


My Heart Burns

by MirielOfGisborne



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Thorin, Comfort Sex, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Sex, Dwarves, Dwarves In Exile, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hot Dwarves, Intense, Internal Conflict, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Anguish, Naked Dwarves, No Lube, Romance, Seduction, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Slash, Smut, Thorin Feels, Thorin-centric, Young Dwarves, Young Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirielOfGisborne/pseuds/MirielOfGisborne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some years after the sack of Erebor (and about 100 something years before the events of The Hobbit), Prince Thorin II and the Dwarves exiled from the Lonely Mountain are making a meagre living in Dunland. Burdened by looming responsibilities and saddened by the suffering of his people, young Thorin is experiencing some self-doubt over his abilities as a leader. Fortunately, he has a special friend, Nyrath, son of Nyr, hot and noble Dwarf in his own right, who is there to give him a nudge in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junos_Peacock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junos_Peacock/gifts).



> This is a bit different :) It’s a Thorin/OC fic, but the OC is male. I’ll admit right here and now that I don’t do very well with Thorin/female (O)C because I feel “a fierce and jealous love” for His #Majesty. So, this is slash, everybody! The main fan fic project I’m working on is a Thorin/Bilbo (Bagginshield) series called "Forget and Forgive" (which you can read here on AO3, if you wish - a big, big thank you to those who have read and commented!), and the idea of a male OC came to me while wondering what else may have happened in Thorin's love life before Bilbo, and what other experiences may have shaped his relationship with Bilbo as I describe it in said series. 
> 
> I hope you like this story, and I would love comments, if you have any! Thank you!
> 
> ART: a beautiful portrait of Nyrath, gifted to me by my friend Cora-Dilcoroc on deviantArt - http://cora-dilcoroc.deviantart.com/art/Nyrath-Son-of-Nyr-501406037  
> She's actually here on AO3 as well, under the pen name Junos_Peacock, and I'm dedicating this work to her because I think of her as a co-creator of my OC Nyrath and because she is very dear to me :)

It was a wretched winter evening in Dunland, and Nyrath, son of Nyr walked with jaded steps through the muddy streets of the city of Men where he and the remaining Dwarves of the devastated Kingdom under the Mountain now made their meagre living. Like many of the able-bodied males of his race, including those in the royal family, Nyrath worked in the forge, striking at his anvil from dawn to dusk, fashioning whatever tools the Men asked for. It was not the life that he had expected to have as a son to the commander of Erebor’s Royal Guards, yet he had no choice but to take it and live it.

He had to admit that he felt slightly more fatigued than on previous evenings. Waking even earlier than usual to join King Thror in the making of battle plans for the retaking of Moria was beginning to take its toll, but he could have never been too tired to see Prince Thorin. And that night, after a few nights of absence, he planned to do just that.

Nyrath willed more briskness into his step and soon reached the small hall at the back of an inn where the Dwarf women had been allowed to set up a canteen to feed their people, in exchange for work around the kitchen. It was already late and there were few tables still occupied. Nyrath looked around until he caught glimpse of Princess Dis, Thorin’s young and spirited sister, who had remained spirited in spite of everything that she had lost. She was also quite beautiful, especially when she smiled the way she did now as she welcomed Nyrath. It was a bright, mischievous smile that always made his heart feel lighter, even after a long day as the one that was just drawing to a close. He approached her, returning the smile in similar fashion. Her eyes of an amaranthine blue, very much like Thorin’s, were an appeasing sight for his own, sore from the soggy dimness of what Men called a forge.

“My Lady,” said Nyrath, bowing his head as he sat down at a table. “How are you tonight?”

“I am well, thank you,” said Dis, placing a bowl of something a bit too clear in front of Nyrath, some bread, and a pint of ale. “I’m afraid it’s not much tonight,” she continued with a compassionate curl of her lips. “Thorin was never overly fond of food, but now it’s impossible for me to imagine what he survives on. Clearly, it’s something else,” said Dis with only a slight arching of her eyebrows. She did not have to put a lot of effort into her tone or into the expression of her face for the teasing to be obvious.

Nyrath smirked subtly and tested the contents of his bowl with his spoon. “Must be,” he replied, looking up at Dis and sustaining her gaze.

The playful spark in her eyes died down as she shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, sighing. “He was so very gloomy tonight,” she said, her voice breaking, “I thought it would start to rain the moment he walked in here.”

Nyrath smiled at her, taking a sip of his broth. It was not too bad. “He has a lot on his mind, and rightfully so,” he said. “We’re not doing very well here, and we go to war in a week. It would make anyone in his position gloomy.” Dis nodded, seemingly seeing the sense behind his words. “Do you really have nothing that I can take up to his room?”

“I’ll check the pantry,” said Dis with a little wink and walked away.

Nyrath ate his dinner, admittedly a bit light for a Dwarf of his impressive stature. At least the ale was what he expected it to be, and he emptied his pint as Dis returned with a small bundle in her hands.

He stood up and she gave him the bundle. “It’s a little bread and some cold meat that I managed to find,” she said.

“It’ll do,” replied Nyrath with a reassuring smile. “Thank you for dinner, as always.”

“I do what I can,” she said, squeezing his arm. Then, the teasing sparkle returned in her eyes. “Have a good night.”

Nyrath nodded in thanks, then bowed his head again for goodbye. He walked away, feeling revived even if he could not say that his meal had been particularly satisfying. He was still a little hungry, and still a bit worn out, but Dis’s company had been as refreshing as always. She was the only one who knew about what he and Thorin shared in private, and he had to admit that it was comforting to be able to confide in someone, even if he had not much anxiety about it himself. But he knew all that troubled Thorin, and how deeply it went, and how much he needed something to take his mind off the pain that he carried with him constantly. Dis knew all that as well.

Nyrath walked out into the freezing drizzle and hurried to his lodgings. Thorin was in the same house, but at an upper storey. It was not much of a home to go back to, but it did not matter. None of it mattered as long as he knew that, at the end of the day, he would be with Thorin.

Nyrath reached his room in what seemed like less than one breath. He bathed quickly and changed into something clean, then stepped out and stealthily made his way to Thorin’s bedroom. Finally finding himself in front of Thorin’s door, he breathed deeply, savouring the thought of everything that waited for him inside. He emptied his mind of the day’s unpleasantness and his hand pressed down on the handle feeling as if he was about to step into a magic realm. The room was warm and welcoming, as always, even if it was poor. Thorin stood royally over the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest, looking deep into the fire. He did not acknowledge Nyrath’s presence by turning to greet him, but Nyrath did not hold that against him. He stepped inside, locking the door behind him, and placed the bundle of food that Dis had given to him on the nightstand near the bed. Then he finally walked towards the beauty and the brilliance that stood tall in the proud shape of Thorin II of Erebor.

“You’re brooding, Your Highness,” said Nyrath, putting his arms around Thorin’s waist.

“I am not brooding,” grumbled Thorin, appropriately flustered. “I am thinking.”

Nyrath smiled at this very characteristic answer from the Prince. He kissed his clothed shoulder, and then allowed his head to rest on Thorin’s shoulder blade. The broad sturdiness of it made Nyrath feel that not everything was lost as long as Thorin was there. “I’ve brought you something to eat,” he said. “Dis raided the pantry for you.”

“I am not hungry,” said Thorin, making an effort to infuse at least a little gratitude into his gruff tone.

“In case you are, later, know that it’s there,” said Nyrath, raising his head. He lifted his right hand from Thorin’s waist to brush a wave of hair from the side of his face. As he did so, he noticed that one of his ear cuffs was missing. It was an especially valuable cuff, given to him by his mother, with precious stones mounted into the gold work. “You’ve lost your mother’s cuff,” gasped Nyrath.

“I have not lost it,” answered Thorin, gruffness turning into pain. “I have given it to a woman whose children are starving.”

“I see,” said Nyrath, feeling a twinge of grief stabbing at his own heart. He would have wanted to take Thorin in his arms and hold him close to his chest and tell him in caresses instead of words that a day would come when the Dwarves of Erebor would come back into their own. But he knew that he had to restrain such impulses and try to deal with Thorin’s heartache on his own terms. “Is that what you’re thinking about?” he asked.

Thorin sighed deeply. “We have to do better for our people. This will not do.”

Nyrath could not keep his hand from hovering over the curve of Thorin’s head. Eventually, he allowed it to descend and run down through his dark, luscious hair. “We will, Thorin, we will,” said Nyrath, trying to put as much confidence into his voice as there was, simply, comfort.

Thorin received his caress easily, as if he had been hoping for it, against himself. “I do not know how,” he spoke under his breath, “and I am not sure that I can be what they need me to be.”

“They need you to be brave, and strong,” reassured Nyrath “You are that already. You always have been, and you always will be.”

Thorin finally turned to face him. He still looked burdened, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. Nyrath was grateful to finally be able to see his face properly for the first time that day. They had met in the early morning to discuss plans for the retaking of Moria, with the King and everyone else who was competent, but it was much better when they were alone together. That was when he could truly look upon Thorin as freely as he wanted. The Prince was very handsome, even with his beard shorn, and Nyrath found it impossible not to lose himself in the blue depths of his eyes, softened by a tender sadness that he did not allow many people to see.

“You did not tell her about us, did you?” asked Thorin. “My sister.”

Nyrath hesitated, knowing that his reply would not answer Thorin’s real question. At least he did not have to lie to keep Thorin unaware that his sister knew of their arrangement, as it was best. “No, of course not,” he said, not about to volunteer the information that the clever Princess Dis had put the pieces of the puzzle together herself, and that Nyrath himself had not offered any denial.

Thorin nodded and looked down. His eyebrows converged again into a frown that looked painful. It seemed that this would be one of those nights when he needed coaxing.

“What else is bothering you, Thorin?” asked Nyrath, taking him by the hand.

Thorin enclosed his hand into both of his and brought it up to his lips, in a gesture that sent a new current of bittersweet pain through Nyrath’s chest. The kiss was infinitely soft, but the words that followed broke through Thorin’s voice like the bloody shards of a shattered sword. “I do not want you to die.”

Nyrath puffed, feigning consternation. “Why would I die?”

Thorin raised an anguished gaze to him. “We are going into battle. Many of us will not return.”

“You trust me that little with an axe?” teased Nyrath, with mock offence.

Thorin glared a little. “That is not what I mean.”

Nyrath knew very well what Thorin meant. He meant that, between the two of them, one was more expendable than the other. “I will have you know that I am not in the least worried about you,” Nyrath continued to jest. Thorin glared more fiercely. “I know what you mean, Thorin, but we are warriors. Death is part of the bargain for us, and we do not get to choose when it comes,” he said, caressing Thorin’s cheek with his thumb. “And if I have to defend you, I will do so to the death.” He looked deep and steadfast into Thorin’s eyes until he saw them reel back, unwilling.

“So will-” he began.

But Nyrath hushed him promptly. “No. You must not do the same for me. You have to live, Thorin, and do better for our people.”

The Prince would have never denied the truth of his first duty, which was not to his own wishes, but to the needs of his people. Still, there seemed to be something else which could not be buried in silence. “But I,” Thorin hesitated, “I love you.”

Nyrath felt as if his lungs had stopped working all of a sudden. He had known for a while that these words would be uttered sometime along the line. He could feel them brewing within himself and within Thorin, rising closer to the surface as they continued their intimate association. It had started out as merely satisfying a whim of youth, but it had not stayed that way, in spite of their good reason. And now that Thorin himself had spoken the three words that changed everything for a Dwarf and that could only be spoken once in a lifetime, Nyrath understood that there was no more need for pretence. He exhaled finally, and smiled, brushing the back of his hand against his lover’s warm face. There was no use for anything other than play between him and Thorin. A king had to secure his line and marry a daughter of a noble house.

Yet, there was only one reply that Nyrath could offer. “I love you, too,” he said, quietly, the weight of his own words almost crushing his throat. “But you will have to let me go, if it comes to that.”

Tears slowly welled up in Thorin’s eyes.

“However, we do not have to think about that until it happens,” said Nyrath, trying to regain the playful tone that he usually assumed when they were alone. “If it happens.” Thorin’s eyes glowed warmly and he looked ever more resplendent as the wind raged outside, cold and wet. “Besides,” continued Nyrath, “I am here now, and you are much too beautiful to be sad on a night like this.”

“I am not beautiful. I am not… whole,” said Thorin, bringing his gaze and his tone to a sad low.

“You’re whole where it matters,” said Nyrath, grinning, and slipped his hand inside the front of Thorin’s trousers. “And I like your beard short. It’s very… arousing”, he pressed on, his lips close to Thorin’s jaw, his hand stroking him gently and enjoying every second of feeling Thorin’s body stirring to his touch in spite of a mind that would have preferred to keep all of that chained down in the dark.

“Don’t,” whispered Thorin, no longer sounding sad, but rather afraid of being overpowered. “I… cannot.” His eyes closed and his eyebrows gathered in an image that contradicted his words.

“Why?” asked Nyrath, digging deeper into Thorin’s trousers. “Because it will make you forget, even for a little while?”

There was no further verbal response, only a soft moan rising from the veiled agony of reason feeling its demise approaching slowly but surely under the fiery breath of desire.

“You need to forget, Thorin,” said Nyrath, his mouth barely grazing the Prince’s ear. “You need to let go every once in a while”. He swept his hair gently away from his ear and kissed him behind it, finally letting his lips be where they had wanted to be all day.

Thorin leaned his head to the opposite direction, with another sigh of half-willing surrender forming in his chest. There was a slight flutter under the skin of his neck as he turned, as if all of the fibre in his being flared against the last glimmers of reluctance in his mind. It was hard to resist the rush of want in his young, strong body, no matter how burdened he felt by his responsibilities.

Thorin’s right palm draped over the shape of Nyrath’s caressing hand, hidden under by the fabric of his own trousers, then it went up the forearm, his fingers pressing slightly into its taut skin, finally accepting the pleasure that was spreading through him. Nyrath grinned as he kissed down Thorin’s neck, knowing that he had him ensnared for the night.

Soon, both of Thorin’s hands wrapped decidedly around his ears, bringing his head back to face him. He gave Nyrath a smouldering stare, then started a deep, intensifying kiss. It was not a violent, rushed kiss. It was more like Thorin’s mouth wanted to respond in kind to the gentleness of Nyrath’s hand. It was the latter’s turn to feel a little insecure in his hold on his own desires. He was not there just to please Thorin. There was much that Thorin could do for him. Once free of his self-made chains, he was like a firestorm, not leaving one a choice of whether to be consumed or not, but it was a sweet, infinitely delightful firestorm that Nyrath gladly gave himself to every time.

As Thorin continued to kiss him, Nyrath interrupted his caress and brought both of his hands up on Thorin’s sides, lifting his shirt. Pulling it over his head inevitably prompted them apart.

Letting his arms fall back down, Thorin gave a subtle smile, looking strangely composed. “You always make me feel as if we are going to live forever,” he said, uttering every word carefully in his dark-honeyed baritone, with the faintest hint of a tease.

Nyrath watched him just as carefully. He knew better than to take for granted Thorin’s mask of sobriety. “We will,” he replied, winking back, and removed his own shirt.

Thorin smirked a bit and looked down. Nyrath wondered if it would have ended right then and there should he have not rekindled their embrace. It was very possible. Thorin seemed more reserved than on other nights, as if more than usual depended on giving in to his desire.

Nyrath nudged his chin back up with his fingers and gazed into his eyes. The longing was there, to give in. He pressed his lips gently against his, not demanding another kiss, but presenting Thorin with a choice. Their eyes were still locked together. The ashy blue of Thorin’s irises held together by dark grey circles was so beautiful that it hurt to look so closely into them, but perhaps Thorin himself felt the same about the vibrant green of Nyrath’s eyes.

Thorin’s eyelids shut once more and his hands touched Nyrath again, one curled around his neck, and the other caressing his back. The kiss was renewed with added resolve, and this time it did not feel like it would be deserted so easily. Nyrath’s hand slid encouragingly up Thorin’s thick arm as Thorin began pushing him slowly towards his bed.

Although he was a proper match for the Prince’s strength, Nyrath did nothing to oppose being pushed further down onto the bed. He shifted until he was comfortably lying on his back, his head resting on the only existing pillow, and received Thorin into his arms as he lay on top of him. Thorin began kissing his neck softly but with enough determination to seal Nyrath’s confidence that he had no more coaxing to do. Thorin’s hand stroked down his chest and stomach until it reached the band of his trousers. His fingers dug inside them, pressing into his hips, as if they did not have the patience to undress him first. Nyrath helped by unlacing the front of his trousers, and as soon as they were fully undone, Thorin swept away the fabric, his hand very obviously relishing the touch of firm, bare skin as it finally travelled down Nyrath’s hip and thigh.

When they were both finally free of their clothes, Thorin’s ardour diminished somewhat. He looked at Nyrath with a dreamy sort of gaze, as if he wanted to convince himself that it was all a fantasy, where anything was permitted.

He lowered his middle between Nyrath’s thighs, and Nyrath felt Thorin’s arousal brushing against his own. He grinned and wrapped his hand around both of them, winning a smile from Thorin and a look of defiance from over his regal nose. His hips tensed and he leaned his head back, seeming to savour that initial touch.

“I… do not have any,” murmured Thorin, his forehead rising high until the muscles of his neck strained visibly.

“It’s good that we’re doing this then,” said Nyrath, adding some pressure to his touch.

A shudder rippled through Thorin’s body and a grin curved his lips. The idea of using the very fruit of their enjoyment of each other in order to further their union excited his raw, earthy Dwarf senses more than he would have normally shown or admitted to himself. But, at that point, admitting and giving in to his natural impulses was pleasurable in itself, and the more he had tried to subdue them before, the more gratifying it was to let go now. That was why his whole body buzzed with a mostly self-inflicted, rapidly growing intoxication. Of course, Nyrath’s touch was pleasing to him, but it was more a storm of thoughts in his own mind that incited him, the thought of everything that he normally denied to himself and of everything he would get to experience in the coming moments, the deep, blazing pleasure that he would still have to control and that burned hotter as he became more aware of the effort that he would have to make to restrain himself. Nyrath knew by now what went on inside Thorin’s head when they were together, and he could see it clearly in the way Thorin’s muscles tensed excessively against their own need to find release, and in the way his eyes rolled hard in their sockets and his mouth opened with a slight tremor of his lower jaw, to let out a long, wavering gasp.

Watching Thorin’s stoicism crumble was part of why Nyrath loved being with him in that way, but it was not a selfish satisfaction of somehow exercising power over Thorin, or of breaking his defences. It was simply the joy of seeing him happy and shedding the burdens that held him down the rest of the time. He stroked him more gently, taking mercy on Thorin’s power of self-control, and giving him time to adjust to the tide of passion that was invading his body a little too fast.

Thorin seemed to relax, or at least the paralyzing buzz seemed to drain from most of his body and concentrate in the one part where it could be most useful. Drawing deep breaths, he looked down at Nyrath again, with something that was more a smile than a smirk, as he had displayed many times right after deciding that there was no turning back from his desire to make love to him. He usually applied himself to a few good seconds of studying Nyrath’s face at very close range, with the feral, focused gaze of a predator assessing prey, letting his warm breath inhale the scent of his skin. This was when Nyrath often felt an almost wicked pleasure in witnessing the slow, silent, unstoppable death of the last flutters of Thorin’s reluctance in the face of his growing desire to be with him. It usually got wild and shameless after that, as if Thorin’s whole being wanted to forever crush the part of him that held him back. Tonight, however, felt different. Thorin felt different, less at war with himself, which was surprising in a way, as Nyrath had expected their talk of real death to spur Thorin’s passion into a surging, violent flame. Instead, he seemed intent on taking his time and there was a loving glow in his eyes which Nyrath had not really seen that clearly before.

Thorin closed his eyes again, slowly, and pushed his forehead against Nyrath’s, patiently accepting his caresses. Their foreheads remained glued together until Thorin moved to brush his nose against Nyrath’s, and brought his lips to the upper side of his left cheek, where the double scar he still carried from the fiery inferno of Erebor’s fall received a tender kiss.

Then, Thorin gently removed Nyrath’s hand from its caressing errand and guided it to his lower back. Nyrath let his palms savour the hot, moistening surface of Thorin’s back as he began moving against him and started a patient, but deliberately devouring kiss. Nyrath’s own concerns faded at that moment. It became impossible for him to think of anything other than his and Thorin’s bodies pressed together in that all-consuming embrace, which seemed to fill time and space, erasing anything before and after, and sublimating everything into that sole instant of being one. He had heard many times of lovers saying that they wanted their moments of bliss to last forever. But forever was all that he felt when he was with Thorin in that way. There was no beginning and no end that he could perceive, no boundaries that he could see. There was only them, and nothing else.

They continued to kiss and their bodies continued to move together, their hands indulging in the rich softness of each other’s hair or in the sculpted firmness of each other’s muscular frames. This mildly sweet rocking against one another lasted for a good, long, satisfying while, but both of them were becoming thoroughly aroused and soon that would have not been enough for either of them. As if to confirm this, Thorin rose on his hands, with another deep breath, and his head ventured up again, his lips forgetting Nyrath’s as he began thrusting against him.

Nyrath smiled and swept his right hand down Thorin’s neck and chest, admiring the perfection of his build and its earnest realization of the male virtues of their race, which made him look every inch like the king that he was born to be. Even as he was now, divested of any garments, armour or jewels that could have indicated his status, especially as he was now, naked and starting to glisten with sweat, his well-toned muscles kept strong by the constant striking at the anvils of Men now working to seek the ultimate reward.

Musing in this way and relishing the feeling of Thorin’s vigorous member rubbing wantingly against his own, Nyrath could not stop his mind going where it was not really allowed. He could not help wanting to enjoy Thorin in that other way, by sinking deep and hard inside of him, and to see Thorin’s last remaining shreds of self-control break under his actions. But it was precisely Thorin’s status as a royal heir that would have made it inappropriate for him to submit to such actions. Not much heed was given by Dwarves to two men of their race engaging in an intimate relationship or to who did what, as their women were few and some simply had to look elsewhere, but matters were clearly set against being the one to be penetrated when it came to heirs of a royal line. The word repeated itself in Nyrath’s mind as he kept watching the crown-worthy Prince drowning in his own pleasure, and it invaded his thoughts, turning from the longing to inflict it on Thorin into the desire to have Thorin inflict it on him.

Nyrath touched Thorin again, waking him up from his blissful delirium. Thorin looked down at him a little startled. Nyrath smiled and folded up his knees around his hips, guiding him further down between his legs. Thorin seemed overtaken by a new wave of impatience. His eyelids fluttered a little desperately and his breath somersaulted as he followed Nyrath’s lead towards that last and most delightful province of their lovemaking. The look in his eyes was not announcing Nyrath’s destruction in the most pleasurable of ways, but rather it was pleading for help.

“Slow, my love, slow,” whispered Nyrath, taking away his hand, and continuing to stroke him gently as it settled instead on his lower back.

Nyrath tried his best to relax and keep his gaze connected with Thorin’s as he nudged his way inside of him. That and the comforting hand that he ran up Thorin’s high-strung right arm seemed to help smooth the edge of his impatience. And Nyrath knew that this new over-stirring of Thorin’s senses did not come only to fill the void of his having censored himself before. This time, it was not a product of his hungered mind, but something very much physical, and something that added a very real possibility of danger to their coupling. Joining like that without the help of the oil that they normally used made everything feel rawer for both of them. For Thorin especially, it meant a searing pleasure that was much harder to rein in than much of what he had felt before, but also a lengthened moment of rare ecstasy if he managed it. He did, quite well, but the signs of both the effort it took and of the pleasure that he got from it were there for Nyrath to see and hear. A tremor ran through his body again, stronger than before, and a prolonged, deep moan accompanied his slow entry. Nyrath couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Thorin fighting against himself over something so pleasurable and it was strange to comfort someone in the face of sheer rapture, but it was important for him to go slowly and forego the fiercer manifestation of his impulses, at least in the beginning, for the safety of both of them.

As the moment of tension passed and Thorin was finally nestled inside Nyrath’s body, he smiled and settled on his elbows again. Nyrath cupped his face with both of his hands, thinking suddenly of how unbearable it would have been to never again be together with Thorin in that way.

“I lied,” he said softly, as Thorin’s face descended to his level. “I do worry about you.” Thorin frowned a bit. “Don’t die out there, you hear?”

Thorin recovered his smile. “Never while I have you to protect me,” he said, caressing the side of Nyrath’s face with his hand. It felt as if this time it was Thorin who was waving off the seriousness of the conversation they were having.

“Don’t even... get a scratch.”

“Bit much to ask,” said Thorin with a scolding tilt of his head.

“It is my right to ask. You are far too precious to me,” said Nyrath, looking closely into Thorin’s eyes and felt his own gaze pierce them with more force than anything Thorin might have physically inflicted on him. “Do not make me hold your hand as it turns cold. Promise me that.”

Thorin gazed back in a rueful kind of way that showed that he understood he absolutely had to make that promise and keep it. He nodded back, and Nyrath lunged at him with a kiss. They kissed until both of them became comfortable with being attached to one another. Nyrath to having a part of Thorin plunged deep into his own body, filling him with a sense of having something invaluable in his possession, and Thorin to having the most sensitive part of him contained blissfully in a tight, warm space inside Nyrath’s body, something which Nyrath himself craved even now, when a greater craving was about to take hold.

Nyrath’s hands pulled away from Thorin’s face and their lips parted as Thorin began moving in slow, calculated fashion, obviously having acquired a taste for controlling every inch that he withdrew or pushed back inside. Nyrath felt the need to close his eyes and abandon himself to Thorin’s whim, but he wanted to see him for as long as he could. He loved looking at Thorin while they made love, at the changing expressions of his face, shifting from a furrowing of his brow that resembled pain but that was the exact opposite of it, to a wickedly triumphant grin that persisted through the most vigorous of his thrusting, and finally to an ever-surprised explosion of bliss that caused him to open his eyes and mouth wide enough to pour out a loud groan, which he always had to silence and which always returned to claim its due, usually under the form of a powerful shiver that only faded after Nyrath had held him in his arms for a while. That night, Nyrath only saw the inkling of a grin, as he eventually closed his eyes, wanting more to just enjoy the intense, dark pleasure of having Thorin thrusting deeply and steadily into him. It lasted longer than usual and it became agonizing when Nyrath himself could not let go of the moan that was growing in his throat. When he finally found his release, it felt as if everything that he was had suddenly scattered into stardust. He soon felt Thorin positively collapsing on top of him, but he did not immediately have the strength to embrace him as he usually did. He could perceive no shiver in Thorin’s body this time, however. There was only ravenous, loud heaving for air close to his ear, which continued for a while longer, until Nyrath opened his eyes again and looked at Thorin, who smiled and shifted carefully at his side.

A few minutes later, Thorin lay with his head on Nyrath’s shoulder, an arm across his stomach and a leg thrown over his knees. He still breathed heavily. Nyrath caressed his forehead and Thorin looked up at him with eyes that were crystalline in spite of their mistiness. His handsome features were set into an image of serenity, as if everything was all right with the world. He smiled an ethereal kind of smile and Nyrath responded with a kiss between his soaked eyebrows.

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” he crooned, running his fingers through the damp hair behind Thorin’s ear.

“Mhm,” replied Thorin, still glowing, and snuggled more comfortably into Nyrath’s arms.

Nyrath leaned his thickly bearded chin against his forehead and caressed his arm. He knew that Thorin’s peaceful happiness would be short lived, and that, the next day at the latest, all of his burdens and fears would come back anew, and perhaps they would hurt even more because a night before he had been oblivious of them. For that reason, and for a few others, it was important for Thorin to feel that those moments that they shared in the privacy of his bedroom were eternal.

Nyrath continued to caress Thorin’s arm and hair until he felt his breath slowing to a nice, regular pace and his head weighed heavier on his chest. Thorin had fallen asleep, and so it was time for him to go, although he wished very badly not to. However, being seen coming out of the Prince’s bedroom in the morning would not have been desirable. Nyrath sighed and gently pulled away from his sleeping lover.

As he sat up, he realized that he was a bit sore, and more than a bit starving. He smiled to himself, stretching his back. The pain could be easily explained by the strain of working in the forge all day, stirred up by much more pleasurable exercise. The hunger could have been easily appeased by the bundle of food that lay on Thorin’s night table, but he couldn’t possibly eat that and leave Thorin to starve instead. There was no way to know that he wouldn’t wake up during the night or the next morning, looking for it. Nyrath had to resign himself to the situation as it was. He reached to the blanket that was pushed to the side of the bed in a crumpled bundle and spread it over Thorin.

Then, he gathered his clothes and dressed, watching Thorin all the while. He would have preferred to stay in his bed and fall asleep next to him, instead of stealing out in the middle of the night like a thief. He did not feel like they were doing anything wrong, and neither did Thorin, at least not when it was just the two of them. But Thorin was uncomfortable sharing their relationship with everyone else, and Nyrath could not truly blame him. Secrecy was a small sacrifice to make for being with Thorin in that way. Not spending the night with him was a greater one. It had not seemed great in the beginning, and in truth, there were many sacrifices worth making in order to be with Thorin, but it was becoming harder to deny that he wanted more, that a crack had begun to form within his heart and that it grew every time he had to part from their embrace after they made love, and that he felt very, very alone the moment he closed the door of Thorin’s bedroom behind him.

But there was no choice. Now fully dressed, Nyrath leaned over Thorin and gave him one final, lingering kiss on his warm temple. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, his lips hovering over Thorin’s skin longer than they had to after he had finished uttering these words.

Nyrath straightened up, eventually, and walked out of the room. His melancholy gave sudden way to a flash of remembrance going a very short way back to his recent and strangely timed conversation about death with the Prince, about his absolute refusal to ever have to hold Thorin’s hand as it turned deathly cold. As his quiet steps put ever more distance between himself and Thorin, he felt his heart turn icy and his own hand was deathly cold by the time it pressed down on the handle of his bedroom door. Not surprisingly, it was chilly inside as well. He started a fire, then went to stand at his window for a while.

Outside, he noticed the beginning of that year’s first fall of frozen, twinkling stars, already starting to cover the slimy ugliness of the muck filling the streets with an immaculate blanket of fresh snow. He liked the snow. It always looked to him like a fresh coat of snow, and especially the first one, made the world stop moving and turned everything quiet. Tonight he felt the same, but there was a new emotion swirling to the surface of his mind. Tonight he also felt that he himself had grown motionless, that some unnamed whirlwind within him had stopped twirling, and that some loud, shouting voices, had turned quiet.

A vision caused him to take a small, abrupt step back. He thought he saw a tinge of blood in the snow. He looked again and realized there was none. Surely, it had been nothing but a figment of his imagination, strained by a long, tiring day, or perhaps it was his blooming realization of having exchanged with Thorin confessions of feelings that he had kept hoping neither of them actually had for each other. It made everything more difficult than it already was, but there was no more denial that there was more between them than a simple trade of physical relief. Although he felt the sting of tears gathering in his throat, Nyrath smiled to himself again. He’d always been in love with Thorin’s presence, just in a different way.

Nyrath looked back to his bed. It was late and it would not have been a bad idea to get some sleep. The bed appeared uninviting as he knew that there were only unpleasantly frigid sheets waiting for him there. But again, there was no other choice. Nyrath lay in his cold bed and covered himself with the thin blanket, closing his eyes and trying to think instead of the beautiful Prince Thorin and of the eternal secret that they shared.


	2. Chapter 2

Nyrath walked out into the dreary drizzle of that late slumbering morning of December. Dwarves rarely had to face such weather if they lived in their own homes carved into the welcoming hearts of mountains. Nyrath remembered the way his mornings started in Erebor. When he left home, he walked out into the pleasant coolness of stone halls and into soft firelight. But Erebor was far away now, on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and on the other side of hope.

Nyrath gathered his coat closer about his throat and was about to set on towards the forge where he worked when he heard his name called from behind. The voice was familiar. He turned with a smile.

Frerin, Thorin’s younger brother, was just walking out into the drizzle himself, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, and his dark, braided hair. The resemblance was clear, but not overwhelming.

“Morning,” said Nyrath, “you’re up early.”

“Eh, since we were kids, Dis has this annoying habit of rising before everyone else and then waking either me or Thorin because she’s bored.”

“I suppose today it was your lucky turn,” said Nyrath.

Frerin gave him a chagrined look. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Shall we go then?”

“Yes.”

Frerin was still looking at him puzzled. “Aren’t you going to cover your head? This weather is dreadful.”

“Nah, it’s invigorating.”

“If you’re dead, maybe.”

Nyrath let out a satisfying roar of laughter. “I’m fine with it, really. That forge gets so stuffy by sunset, I find myself craving to be out in dreadful weather.”

Frerin agreed. “I don’t even know how they can call it a forge,” he said, a clear glint of melancholy gracing his eyes.

Nyrath’s mirth faded back to a soft smile. “They don’t know any better.”

They set out into the freezing rain and the ruined snow, Frerin bundled well in his thick cloak, and Nyrath carelessly allowing his face and hair to be drenched. They could never walk side by side in complete silence, however.

“So,” said Frerin, “what do you really think about this Moria business?”

“I think I shall follow my king where he leads,” Nyrath answered.

“No questioning that, but... well, Thorin doesn’t think it’s the greatest idea, even if we have the support of our kin.”

“It may not be the greatest idea, but it’s something.”

“It’s taking a great risk.”

“What more do we stand to lose, really? We’re drowning in mud here.”

“Literally.” Frerin thought to himself for a bit, glancing down at his worn boots, already stained with the muck of the street. He looked most like his brother when his brow descended in thought. “You’re right, we have to try.”

Nyrath nodded to him.

“Maybe Dis’s habit isn’t so bad,” said Frerin, retrieving his brightness. “We’ll have plenty of time to forge more weapons.”

Nyrath smiled back, with determination, he hoped. He knew better than he liked what troubled Thorin about that battle. Their conversation was still very fresh in his mind, about those who would not return. He had felt very determined the night before to show Thorin that he was ready to die for him, and he was still determined now, but when he was not standing in Thorin’s radiating presence and looking into his eyes, that determination was tinged with grief. He did not want to die. He wanted to live, and love, and not hide it. The rain poured on, cold and relentless, and only the rain knew that, as it did so, its icy tears fused with fiery ones as they slid down Nyrath’s face.

The day in the Men’s forge went by as it always did, and it ended as it always ended, with a meagre meal and a pint of ale at the tavern. Thorin was there and gave a rather nervous greeting as Frerin and Nyrath entered the establishment. He was talking to a dwarf they had not seen before. Thorin appeared to be taking his leave of him and came towards Nyrath and his brother. They sat together at a table.

“That was Bruni, from the Iron Hills,” said Thorin, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Lord Nain will be arriving tomorrow with five hundred warriors. We will meet more on the way to Moria.”

“That’s not so bad,” said Frerin.

Thorin shot him a worried glance. “He says they will also be bringing some supplies for our people.”

“Even better,” said Frerin again.

Thorin kept his dark look. He sighed and placed his crossed elbows on the table. “There is no stopping it now.”

“Thorin, we don’t really have much choice,” said Frerin. “There is nothing for us here. We are barely surviving from one day to the next.”

“What makes you think there is anything for us in Moria? That place has been deserted for hundreds of years. And there is a beast lying in its depths far worse than any dragon.”

“Grandfather says he would rather face the wrath of a balrog than see his people rot in this accursed place,” said Frerin.

“There are other ancient Dwarven lands that we can return to in more safety,” said Thorin under his breath.

“The Blue Mountains?” intervened Nyrath.

Thorin looked at him a little startled, but smiled in approval.

“Grandfather wants to leave us a kingdom, however,” he said bitterly, “not a heap of sad ruins.”

He sat back and threw a dangerously long glance at Nyrath.

“Then we must see that his wish is done,” said Nyrath eventually after losing himself a bit in Thorin’s gaze.

Thorin nodded, appearing to no longer dispute the legitimacy of a battle for Moria. There was a weight to his final acceptance of it, like the fall of a hammer. He drew a deep breath and stood up. “I’ll say good night.” He walked off, with another risky glance towards Nyrath, leaving his supper and even his pint of ale untouched.

“I told you he worries,” Frerin said at Nyrath’s side as he took another sip of his ale, fortunately unsuspicious of Thorin’s behaviour.

Nyrath smiled painfully. “I can’t say I blame him.”

He knew that he couldn’t go after Thorin right away, although he very much wanted to. He stayed behind for another hour, to everyone’s eyes enjoying his supper and ale and making brave plans for battle with Prince Frerin. When he finally left, he did not stop by his own room to clean up. He went straight to Thorin’s door and knocked gently. A more eager voice than he’d expected called to him from the inside.

Nyrath went in and his breath was even more unexpectedly made difficult as Thorin launched himself upon him with tight-squeezing arms and hungry kisses.

Nyrath started laughing. “Well, this is what I’d call a warm welcome.” He patiently withstood Thorin’s ravaging of his neck, then slowly brought his hands up his sides until they wrapped gently around his head and nudged him to stop. He had barely been able to notice that Thorin was only wearing a towel around his waist, but their extreme closeness had filled his nose with the scent of freshly bathed skin. “Will you at least allow me to clean up first?” he asked, playfully.

But as he studied Thorin’s face, his bright, warm mood shadowed. Thorin looked pale and wounded inside, a hushed echo of the controlled if rattled authority that he had shown earlier. “Thorin, what’s wrong?”

“I” Thorin replied weakly, all of his energy seeming to be slipping away like a cloud. “I need something from you.” His eyes were pools of unexplainable pain.

“I can see that.”

“No, it’s... something different.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“I... I want you inside me.” Thorin breathed out these words and he himself seemed to be turning into a cloud that was about to slip away on the wind of Nyrath’s response.

“Thorin,” said Nyrath, his voice low, “you can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Have you thought well about this?”

“What is there to think about?” Anger now made his voice and his entire presence more solid.

Nyrath smiled wryly. “For one thing, it is forbidden to you, as one who will be king.”

“No one will know.”

“You will.”

“I want to!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Thorin huffed and took a step back. “Is that all I am to you? One who will be king?”

“You say that as if it were not much to be.”

Thorin looked like he bit back his anger and looked down, sadly. “It is not all that I am.”

Nyrath approached him again. “I know,” he said, running his hands down Thorin’s naked arms and Thorin looked up at him. “I do, you are much more than that to me. I just need to know where this is coming from. It’s not that I don’t want to. I mean,” he looked him up and down, “well, obviously. But this is a bit sudden.”

Thorin smiled at “well, obviously”. “I want to know how it feels to not have things expected of me for once.”

“Is that how you think it feels for me?”

Thorin paled a little further. “Does it not?”

“I wouldn’t really put it that way.”

Thorin coiled within himself again. “I am sorry if I offended you.”

“I’m not so easily offended,” said Nyrath. “I’m not going to ask you if this has anything to do with the battle because I know it has everything to do with it. I think I understand what you need from me.” Thorin looked back to him, hopeful. He sealed that hope with a kiss. “I really need to wash up first. I’ll be back soon.”

Nyrath left Thorin standing, half-naked and half-relieved, in his bedroom. He took in a hard, deep breath the moment he closed the door of the washroom behind him. Thorin was offering him something he had wanted all along, but this was not about what he wanted. It was bigger than that. It was about letting go of everything that kept the spirit tied to the ground. A week before a battle from which either of them or both might have not returned, Nyrath couldn’t blame Thorin for wanting to let go. He smiled to himself and at his own hesitation over something that he did want, badly. If it had been someone other than Thorin, he would not have thought twice, or even once, about seizing the chance to feel thoroughly alive. But the fact that Thorin’s royal status now hung in precarious balance had steeled his loyalty to such a degree that it went above any of his earthly desires. And he had not really considered that until then. It seemed that he had his own boundaries to let go of. Finally, he unpeeled himself from the back of the door, undressed and washed. Then, he grabbed Thorin’s robe, which was still lying on a chair, and put it on.

When he rejoined Thorin in his bedroom, the prince was sitting on the side of his bed, still half-naked. As he looked up, Nyrath could see that worry and torment had seeped back into his features. He usually appeared powerful even when he was openly worried about something, as if he also possessed the confidence to face and defeat whatever it was that worried him. Now his aura of power was not there. There was just uncertainty and a desire that seemed to unnerve him beyond his ability to subdue it. For the first time, he looked like he was made of the very same flesh and blood that other dwarves were made of, and for the first time, Nyrath did not think of him as his future king. He found himself smiling as Thorin’s anguished expression turned to surprise over seeing Nyrath in his robe.

“If you won’t wear it, then I will,” said Nyrath and sat down near Thorin. “Not that you don’t look better the way you are,” he winked.

Thorin smiled back and leaned in for a kiss. “I just want to be free of everything,” he said after it was over.

Nyrath caressed his warm cheek. “I know, darling.”

“I should not want any of this,” he said, faltering. “I know it is not becoming of a king.”

Nyrath’s hand remained sweetly comforting on Thorin’s cheek. He found it ironic that Thorin referred to himself as a king precisely when he was seeing him the least as such. But regardless of appearances or even of physical reality, he was a king. He always had been and he always would be. He could hear in Thorin’s voice the deep consciousness of that, ingrained in his mind from before the dragon had destroyed their home, from the moment Thorin had been old enough to understand that he was destined for something great but very different from the life that awaited other Dwarves his age, something that came with responsibilities, and with many things that he would have to leave behind.

“No, Thorin, that isn’t true,” said Nyrath, realising more fully than ever how unfair that was, and how unfair it was of him to expect Thorin to embrace his own desires and at the same time treat him as if he had to be above them. “Even kings have a right to want happiness. You have that right, and if I can give you happiness, I shall never want anything else.”

Thorin started to say something but Nyrath silenced his unspoken words with a kiss full of promises. Thorin did not resist as Nyrath slowly nudged him to lie on his back.

As Thorin was finally resting comfortably on his pillow, Nyrath brought his hand up the side of his stomach and to his chest. He allowed their kiss to end of its own momentum and then looked down at Thorin, smiling. “And they say nothing is perfect,” he said.

“They are obviously wrong,” echoed Thorin, lifting a hand to Nyrath’s arm and stroking its mounds of muscle, pressing a wide, firm touch that seemed to want to gain full awareness of their existence.

There was a sad glint in his eye and a faint hollowness to his voice that Nyrath chose to ignore. Instead, he lowered his lips to Thorin’s neck and took his time until he heard him sigh out his melancholy. He could feel what was left of Thorin’s usual shell of reserve melt away under his kisses. It was still there even after honestly speaking out his desires. Nyrath understood that it would have taken more than what they already had and more than a moment of honesty.

As he placed one last kiss to the warm, slightly pulsing hollow at the base of Thorin’s neck, he looked down at him and finally saw all his defences willingly torn down. He did not want to let Thorin see that it broke something within himself, bringing the end of an illusion that he had entertained without question. Instead, he let his hand slide down to the edge of the towel still wrapped around Thorin’s waist. “There’s something we haven’t done in a long time, something I haven’t done,” he said. “Looks like I’ll be doing all the work tonight,” said Nyrath, for the first time with more love in his voice than mere provocation. Thorin echoed his tone with a light smile.

Nyrath slowly removed the towel from Thorin’s waist and pushed it aside. It was like he was doing that for the first time, and in a way he was. It was for the first time that he was uncovering the real Thorin with all that he was behind his title and his duties. And it felt new and wonderful. It felt right and complete. Like he was finally allowing himself to feel what he really felt for Thorin, which was simple and yet difficult to contain in the light of awareness. It was deeper than anything he had felt before and he recognized now that he had hesitated to admit it because he knew that it would have bound him to life in a way that, as a warrior, he would have been better off to avoid. But it was much too late now and no amount of denying would have saved him from it. Not that he wanted saving from such happiness. If only death did not suddenly look so bitter in the face of it.

When he finally kissed Thorin again, just above his belly button, it was only with love that flowed through him, so pure that he almost feared it would exalt him above this physical closeness. But the slight quiver that he felt in Thorin where Nyrath’s lips met his skin, and the barely perceptible firming of his muscles as he breathed in more deeply kept him there.

Nyrath smiled to himself as he brushed a thumb over the round edge of Thorin’s hipbone. His mind was made up to think of that moment only. Nothing could erase their duties outside of that bedroom, but Nyrath realised now, as he lay over Thorin’s waiting body, which was as real and as nobly beautiful as any of the ideals that they had a duty to defend, that they could try and forget at least for the time that they were alone together about anything that bound them to separate fates.

He placed a kiss where his thumb had been, and his lips curled wider as he perceived a slight hitch in Thorin’s breathing. A sign that some of his earlier impatience was returning and for good reason. At last, Nyrath ran his tongue along the part of Thorin that seemed most eager to be pleased at that time and the loud sigh that he got in return told him that Thorin’s eagerness had grown in the time that he had kept him waiting. It stirred Nyrath’s own acquiesced desire and he kissed Thorin with more passion. His tongue relished the contact with warm, hardening flesh. It was as if he could feel Thorin’s pleasure rising like a wave of heat the longer he kept his mouth on him. He cupped his tip for a last time with his lips and then slid back up to meet Thorin’s mouth and silence a moan of protest. Thorin received him earnestly as Nyrath allowed his body to rest closely against Thorin’s. He felt Thorin’s hands wrap around his hips as he kissed him back and his fingers dig into the flesh of his buttocks. Nyrath smiled against Thorin’s mouth, ending their kiss, then looked down at him and saw more of the rough want that he had welcomed him with a while earlier. He caressed the side of his face, then reached for the bottle of oil on the night table.

“I,” Thorin began faintly and Nyrath looked back to him and saw him more flushed than only a second before. “I prepared myself earlier.”

Nyrath couldn’t help keeping surprise from widening his gaze, but he countered with a little smirk. “Well, it seems I missed out on quite a performance.”

Thorin smiled back, obvious shame melting into healthy amusement. His hands had slipped away from Nyrath’s body. Nyrath had a good mind to ask if he was sure he wanted to do that, but he realised that the question might have ruined the moment.

He opened the bottle of oil, then looked again to Thorin. “I think it would be better if you turned.”

Thorin nodded, and Nyrath thought he could see a light shadow of anxiety in his eyes. It almost curtailed his every desire to be with him in that way, but then he remembered that it was natural to be a little anxious. He tried to comfort him with a light, long kiss to his turned cheek and did not withdraw until he could feel him smile again.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said close into Thorin’s ear.

“I know,” said Thorin.

Nyrath pulled himself away finally in order to make his own preparations. Then he kissed Thorin’s shoulder as he drew closer. Thorin reached a hand into Nyrath’s hair and turned his head to kiss him.

Nyrath could feel Thorin’s anxiety dissipate rapidly as his kiss became more intrusive and it made his own desire gain strength. He finally wrapped a tensing arm around Thorin’s stomach, and as Thorin’s mouth dropped from his in an exhale that seemed impossible to contain, he slowly slipped between Thorin’s legs at first, knowing the wonderful pleasure that it would give to both of them. They moved together for a while and, indeed, the smile that flourished on Thorin’s face, wider the bolder Nyrath became, was ripe with pleasure.

When he offered his mouth again to be kissed, Nyrath knew that it was more that he wanted. His hand went down to steady Thorin’s hip and, finally, he started to push himself inside, where Thorin wanted him, slowly and carefully. He remembered the first time Thorin had done that to him. It had been almost sudden, certainly done with more impatience, and it had only become more intense once initiated. It had been as if Thorin had poured all of his pain and frustration into that act which began for both of them in inevitable pain, but which ended in delirious pleasure. Nyrath had enjoyed the strange mix of opposites. Eventually, it was like laughing in the face of pain, and he had his own share of it to carry. Much of his association with Thorin had been about burying pain, about losing grip on a mind that kept conjuring shadow and death. Much of it had been fire and darkness dancing together in violent flames that left them both sore and satiated at the same time. But now it was no longer about that, and Nyrath could not have been more forceful even if he had wanted to be.

He kissed Thorin behind his ear and ran his hand flat over his stomach as he felt him relax. Thorin smiled and lay his hand over Nyrath’s. Nyrath began moving in loving strokes, allowing both of them time to grow comfortable with each other. Thorin continued to smile with a sweet abandon of everything that kept him tense, which spread through his whole body and gave Nyrath the sensation that he was turning liquid in his arms. Nyrath himself was slowly falling into something of a dream. There was a warm light of forgetfulness emanating from his middle and filling everything that he was with peace. Yet, at the core of this world of soft light, something began to stir, a ball of darkness that screamed to be plucked out and allowed to run wild. His hand moved up over Thorin’s chest, along his neck and wrapped around his jaw, pulling him into another kiss, but much more daring. Thorin responded in kind and Nyrath knew that he could go further. He pushed a little harder as his and Thorin’s mouths were still close and Thorin reacted instantly with a surprised little squeal of delight. He looked up at Nyrath, his eyes wide open with bright revelation and Nyrath smiled to him and gave him a small kiss at the root of his nose. Then he started moving with more confidence and the hot spark soon grew into a fire that burned through his entire body, not with violence, but with steady, healthy vigour. It grew and grew and eventually the fire wrapped around both of them and they burned together in an ever-rising wave of bliss.

When it was over, they remained in a tight wordless embrace for a good while as their bodies softened their glow until they were aware of the world again, but not yet overwhelmed by everything it contained. Thorin slowly shifted to face Nyrath and Nyrath saw in his eyes that he finally understood what it had felt like for him the previous night. He smiled, asking for a last kiss, which came soft and light like a feather on the wind. Then, Nyrath lay on his back and allowed Thorin to settle more comfortably into his arms. He draped the blanket over both of them, expecting Thorin to fall asleep sometime soon.

But he did not. He also did not say anything and even if he didn’t, Nyrath could feel his light growing dimmer and colder. He caressed his forearm, which lay over his stomach. “Everything all right?”

Thorin looked up at him. He didn’t really have to answer.

Nyrath felt his own heart grow darker. “Are you sorry we did this?”, he asked, his voice breaking.

“No,” said Thorin, bringing his hand up on Nyrath’s chest in what he clearly hoped to be a reassuring caress.

“You feel guilty for getting an ounce of happiness then.”

Thorin did not respond verbally or otherwise. He kept his eyes fixed on Nyrath’s, hollowed and pained. Again, he didn’t have to.

Nyrath smiled to him, relieved, then kissed his forehead. “That is not fair, Thorin. People do not stop loving just because they live in times of hardship. How can you have hope for your people if you leave none for yourself?”

Thorin’s distress seemed to fade a little, and even a little was something that Nyrath had to content himself with.

“I am sorry that I was not always… gentle with you,” said Thorin, keeping his eyes set on Nyrath’s.

Nyrath smirked. “What makes you think I will always be gentle with you?” He kissed Thorin by surprise and not in the gentlest of ways.

Thorin was left grinning at the end of it. “You know what I mean,” he insisted.

“It is always a privilege being with you, gentle or not,” said Nyrath more seriously.

Thorin’s grin faded into a soft smile and then he set his head back comfortably on his lover’s shoulder.

Nyrath felt Thorin’s weight pressing slightly heavier on his body. Thorin was falling asleep finally, and from the total self-surrender with which he draped himself over Nyrath’s chest, Nyrath understood that he was perhaps more peaceful than he had been in a long time. He sighed and allowed his head to fall to his side, away from Thorin’s. He knew that he would have to leave soon, so falling asleep was not a luxury he afforded. But he was in no real danger of falling asleep without realising. Something was keeping him from sliding into the kind of careless bliss that he would have expected to feel after having finally been with Thorin in a way that he’d craved all along. Even though this night had been everything that Nyrath had wanted it to be, it had deepened his feeling that whatever was happening was slipping through his fingers and the more he tried to take control, the farther away it slipped. The tighter he wrung his connection with Thorin, the better he knew that it could not go on for much longer, that they would never be able to dispel the secrecy of their relationship, that Thorin would always be a king before anything else, as much as he sometimes wanted to be more, or less. And as much as Nyrath loved to think of him as such, he realised now that he had come to love Thorin in many more ways than as his king. Even if Thorin was not truly a king yet, he had been born and raised to be one. It was not something he could choose not to be.

Nyrath looked down at Thorin and smiled at the sight of him sleeping. He wondered, however, if he really was as peaceful as he seemed, if the next morning, when he would wake up again, the echoes of what he desired for himself would not ring hollower as they met the deeper-ingrained duties that bound him to his people. There were things that they both wanted and that they could not have, but it didn’t stop them from wanting.

Nyrath gave a kiss to Thorin’s forehead and gently removed himself from his embrace. For now, Thorin was asleep deeply enough that he didn’t wake.

Nyrath dressed and left the room, but he didn’t find his share of peaceful sleep that night even though he tried for a while. Sometime near early morning, still well before sunrise, Nyrath decided to not torture himself any longer and got up. He was lucky to find something to munch on in the kitchen, then went out into the wavering night.

It was not raining any longer, but there was a deep dark dampness to all things and the muddy street was frozen. Nyrath felt that he was very well suited to be in that place at that time, rather than in warm, dry Dwarven halls. The damp chill seemed to irradiate from within him rather than latch onto him with its muck-soiled tendrils from without. He wondered if all his time with Thorin had been just him serving his king. It didn’t feel that way to him, not now, and he knew that it didn’t feel that way to Thorin. But did it really matter as long as they really could never be more than king and faithful captain? It should not have bothered him. It should not have hurt as much as it did. He should not have wanted what he wanted, but it seemed that the heart was the wildest of things and that it could not be bent, tamed or chained to any of the stone-set rules of what was permitted or possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is up! Hope you like it!

Nyrath reached the tavern where he and the other Dwarves ate their meals earlier than he usually did. There was no one there yet other than some of the cooks. The keeper of the place, Princess Dis, had not arrived yet, and Nyrath had to admit that he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he would have said to her. He didn’t feel at all like himself.

He pulled a chair from a table and took it outside on the wooden porch. The sky was still dark, but he simply couldn’t be inside the even blacker night of the tavern. In spite of the candles burning here and there, the low ceilings and the smell of wet wood made him feel sick.

He sat down and took out his pipe. He always kept it well protected under his coat so that it stayed dry. He stuffed it fresh with pipe weed and sparked it up. The fragrant smoke always made things better. Now it settled the pain in his heart into a low-humming echo of itself. Taking a good puff of his pipe, he sat back and thought with dampened passion of the previous night’s events. Although he had desired to be with Thorin in that way, he had hesitated, and now he knew why. It was not because Thorin was a prince and Nyrath felt responsible to defend his interests as such. It was because he’d known, deep inside, that it would open up a door within himself which would have better stayed closed.

Nyrath let his gaze fall down to his knees, as his pipe followed the same course. Yet, his attention was caught by another dwarf marching towards the tavern. He looked up and saw Dwalin emerging from the hood draped over his head. A fine drizzle had begun again to ooze from the dark.

“You can’t sleep either?” asked Dwalin as he shook off freezing rain from his cloak.

Nyrath smiled at him, confirming.

“Mind if I join you?” said Dwalin.

“Not at all.”

Dwalin brought his own chair, sat down on it and worked on his pipe until it was puffing out a cloud of smoke. He leaned against the back of his chair and glanced at Nyrath without saying anything.

Nyrath glanced back. A question began to grow in his mind. “Dwalin, what would you have done if you hadn’t been a warrior?”

Dwalin gave him a perplexed look.

“You’ve never thought about that, have you?”

“No, I can’t say as I have. I didn’t think you had either.”

“No, I was just wondering.”

“Wondering means you’re thinking about it.”

Nyrath resisted a scowl, but Dwalin’s perceptive words came as a full punch in his ribs. “Humour me, will you?”

Dwalin rested his elbow on his knee and thought, actually thought for a while. “I really have no idea. So far I’ve been a blacksmith. I suppose I would have done that.”

“We’re all blacksmiths,” said Nyrath, spitting out a bit of foul-tasting pipe weed. “Or other sorts of tinkerers.”

Dwalin seemed to resist rolling his eyes.

“Have you ever considered raising a family?”

“Oh, well, no, not really.”

“No one caught your eye yet?”

“It’s not that. I am a warrior and that’s all I want to be.”

Nyrath smiled and looked down.

“I thought you felt the same,” said Dwalin.

“I do,” said Nyrath. “But still, I wonder if there isn’t more to it than that. I mean, aren’t we too quick to give up our lives?”

“To protect our king and our people? Not a chance.”

“Not when you put it that way. But do we really know what we’re giving up? Shouldn’t we give ourselves a chance to find out first?”

Dwalin remained silent for a while. “We should, but even if we do, our lives are still not our own. You know that.”

Nyrath faced him again and nodded.

“I take it someone has caught your eye,” said Dwalin.

Nyrath couldn’t keep himself from wincing. He only hoped it wasn’t very visible.

“It’s not our lovely princess, is it? I saw you two are exchanging suggestive glances every time you’re in the same room.”

Nyrath smiled widely. “No, it’s not her.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” said Dwalin. “Though it wouldn’t make anything easier. She’s a princess before being a woman. Unfortunately, right now she needs you to be ready to die for her more than she needs you to want to live.”

Nyrath’s smile faded quickly.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to do everything in your power to come back alive. Dis is definitely worth coming back to.”

Dwalin’s wink eased Nyrath’s mood, though not by much. Fortunately, there was someone else coming through the early morning towards the tavern. He squinted to see who it was.

Dwalin followed his gaze. “Oh, and there’s our princess now.”

Nyrath turned a smile to him, which Dwalin returned full-heartedly, then they both stood up to receive her.

Dis climbed the few stairs to the entrance of the tavern, her step as determined as Dwalin’s had been. She pushed down her hood, revealing carefully braided dark hair and a gaze as awake and alive as the hottest-burning fire in a Dwarf forge. Despite her current circumstances, no one could have taken Dis for a common Dwarf woman. Nyrath and Dwalin both bowed their heads to her, as they would have done if they had been back in Erebor.

“Gentlemen,” she said, “I am glad to see you both so eager to start a new day.”

They followed her inside. Rather than walking straight to the kitchen, she stopped at the counter, leaning her left elbow against it, and taking off her gloves. Then she looked back at Dwalin and Nyrath, appearing older than she really was.

“I hear we’ll be getting reinforcements,” she said, gravely.

Dwalin nodded. “They should be arriving tonight.”

“Then I’ll have to see to a feast for Lord Nain,” she continued, speaking mostly to herself.

“There is not much we can provide by way of a feast,” said Dwalin, under his breath.

Dis turned her eyes swiftly, almost angrily, to him. “We must do what we can. They are coming to help us. We cannot welcome them with nothing, even if that is what we have.”

“Of course, My Lady,” said Dwalin, bowing his head again.

“Well,” said Dis, breathing in deeply and appearing to calm herself, “have a seat. I’ll send something out for you.”

“Orcs are lucky she’s not coming with us,” said Dwalin as he watched her go.

Nyrath smiled to him. “We’re lucky she’s staying, though.”

Nyrath and Dwalin sat down at a table. They didn’t have to wait long until they were served some bread and cheese. They started eating, and Nyrath found that he had more of an appetite than he’d expected. More Dwarves filed in, and by the time Dwalin and Nyrath had finished their breakfast, the tavern was almost full and positively noisy. Noisier even than usual, in fact. The news of more Dwarves coming in from the Iron Hills had animated spirits in the past few days.

The noise went down a few notes when Thorin entered the tavern an hour later. He acknowledged the silent greeting and made his way to the table where Nyrath and Dwalin sat. Something was different about him, but not strikingly so. Especially in those days prior to a battle, everyone clearly looked to him with due reverence. But to a keener observer’s eye, Thorin had a lighter air about him than he’d had in a long time, as if the dark cloud that usually hung above his head wherever he went had dispersed overnight. Thorin sat down opposite Dwalin and leaned against the back of his chair with uncharacteristic calm. “This should be an interesting day,” he said, subtle amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Dis wants to have a feast,” said Dwalin, lifting an eyebrow.

“I suppose we could all do with one,” said Thorin. “Even if we’ll have to use our guests’ food and drink.”

Dwalin gave a short chuckle.

Nyrath smiled, too. “Well, we can’t all be planning dinner parties,” he said, standing up. “Some of us still have weapons to forge.”

“I’ll be in, too, in a while,” said Dwalin. “I’m keeping His Highness here company.”

Thorin smiled at him a little shrewdly and Nyrath bowed his head to the both of them.

The he walked out into what was now dim daylight. Tall figures walked past him, ghostly almost in the thick, moist air. Men were going about their daily business in their own village, only tolerating the Dwarves that had taken refuge there.

His conversation with Dwalin still rang bitter in Nyrath’s ears. It was not Princess Dis who had caught his eye, as indeed he could not have been blamed, but her older brother, the one who would have been their king one day. And he, too, needed his warriors to be ready to die for him more than he needed them to want to live. For king and realm was his oath, as was Dwalin’s and every other Dwarf’s who had ever sworn to fight for their people. He remembered carrying that oath with pride, a pride which sustained him even in this wretched exile, even when they no longer had a realm of their own. Now it loomed with dark responsibility that for the first time in his life shadowed his heart.

He went on to his forge and forgot to leave. In truth, he did have weapons to forge for the nearing battle. Dwalin had come to do his part, too, as he had promised. But Dwalin had come and gone, and Nyrath was still pounding away at the red iron much later, barely noticing the tightness in his arms, or the waves of sweat that bathed his body. He was forging true Dwarf weapons even if the iron could have been better and the tools more varied, swords and axes that were beautiful as much as they were deadly.

When the door to the forge opened, he noticed and his hammer halted. Even without looking, he knew that it was Thorin.

“You know, we do not simply plan dinner parties,” said Thorin, coming closer, in a sweet, teasing tone that Nyrath had missed all day, “we actually hold them.” He put his arms around Nyrath’s waist.

“No, Thorin, I’m covered in filth,” said Nyrath, trying to push him away.

“What am I, a Man?” said Thorin, and Nyrath could hear him smirk as well. “This is not filth,” he said, running his hand up Nyrath’s sooty arm and kissing his sweaty shoulder. “Besides, I have seen you sweaty before.” Thorin’s touch felt chilly as the winter air outside and just as comforting to his baked skin.

Nyrath smiled and let go of his hammer completely. “I hope you closed that door behind you.” Leaning his head back, he found Thorin’s cool cheek.

“I most certainly did,” said Thorin. “Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know,” Nyrath whispered.

Thorin gave a heavy sigh. “Neither of us is going to die in this battle. We cannot, not now.”

Nyrath turned to him, finally. He knew just what Thorin meant and he was tempted, very tempted, to believe him. December air was still clinging to Thorin’s clothes and face, with its unmistakable scent of wood fire. Suddenly, Nyrath wanted to leave the forge and lose himself in that fresh wintery glow.

“No, not now,” he said, leaning his forehead against Thorin’s.

Their noses touched and then their mouths, and slowly they kissed, hot and cold mixing into warm.

“Come back with me,” said Thorin, as the kiss wore off.

Nyrath agreed with a nod. He echoed Thorin’s grin as the prince leaned back against the smithy stand and watched him wipe himself of the sweat and soot, and dress.

Then they walked out together into the winter coolness. Nyrath breathed it in, letting it cleanse his lungs. They arrived soon enough at the tavern, where the feast looked to be more of a success than Nyrath had expected it to be. It actually felt like a feast, and a proper Dwarvish one at that. There was meat, there was ale, and there was the roar of cheer. He followed Thorin into the crowd and many new faces that greeted them. Thorin stopped in front of a red-haired Dwarf that held himself with regal pride.

“Dain,” Thorin addressed him, “allow me to introduce you to Nyrath, son of Nyr, one of our best warriors. This is Dain, my cousin from the Iron Hills, son of Nain,” Thorin said to Nyrath.

Nyrath bowed his head in due respect.

Dain did the same, but less obviously. He gave Nyrath an approving stare. “You certainly look like it. We’re going to need the best for what King Thror has in mind. Son of Nyr,” he said squinting a little. “Your father was the captain of the King’s guard in Erebor, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right,” said Nyrath.

“You have my sympathies for his death,” said Dain. “My father spoke of him in high regard.”

“Thank you,” said Nyrath. “I do my best to honour him.”

“I’m sure,” said Dain. “We must make some plans for battle tomorrow. But for now, get yourself a pint and have a drink with us.”

The evening proved to be unexpectedly pleasant. It was good to be surrounded by Dwarves who were not overworked and underfed. It felt like a little bit of home had come back to them again.

Nyrath stood with his back against a wooden post, looking at the very Dwarvish affair taking place all around him. He almost felt like his old self, before the dragon had come, before his father had died, and before he had fallen in love with Thorin. His eyes followed him around the room without thinking about it, without wondering if anyone noticed. Thorin was now talking to an elderly Dwarf, almost a head shorter than him. Then he saw Frerin coming his way and welcomed him with a smile.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have our own home again, would it?” said Nyrath.

“No, it would not,” approved Frerin. “And you and I wouldn’t be the only ones to draw benefits.”

“What do you mean?”

“See that?” Frerin nodded towards the Dwarf that Thorin was talking to. “He’s a great lord of the Firebeards. He travelled here before his troops to speak to Thorin. He has a special reward if we take back Moria: his daughter. I hear she’s a rare, fiery beauty,” Frerin winked.

Nyrath tried in vain to react in some way, but all he could do was to stare and not choke on the heavy lump in his throat. Frerin seemed not to notice. He was still sporting a cheeky grin. He had probably had enough ale to laugh at anything.

He snatched the pint from Nyrath’s hand and jabbed him in his side. “Give this to me. I’ll bring us both another round.” He walked away.

Nyrath remained silent and stuck to the floor, looking still in Thorin’s direction. He was nodding politely. When the old lord of the Firebeards put his arm around his shoulders, Nyrath felt like he absolutely had to get out of there. He walked out as quickly as he was able, desiring again of clean, icy air. A smothering sickness had risen again in his belly, much stronger than what he had felt that morning. Of course, he knew that Thorin would become the main attraction for all the Dwarf lords in Middle Earth with daughters of age once he had gained possession of a proper kingdom again. But seeing it with his own eyes turned his stomach inside out. And he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and that scene.

Nyrath hurried back to his room, but the poison followed him, filling his mind. It continued to swirl in black, unwanted waves of what could only be jealousy. He sat down on his bed in the dark and let the feeling fester inside him. He could not fight it although he knew he had little right to feel it. It was like death, implacable. He had seen death many times, and he had tried to imagine it happening to him. Sometimes he saw pain, and sometimes he saw simple and flowing relief. But he had never imagined anything as stinging and awful as what he felt now.

He didn’t know how long he had sat there, but at some point a knocking at his door woke him from his bleak reverie. His gut knew who it was, but he didn’t get up at once. He simply stared at the door, a flat, blank and impenetrable surface. The knocking came again, more assertive. Nyrath finally got up.

As usual, his instincts were right. Thorin was standing outside his door, his veneer of calm and confidence unravelling at the seams.

Nyrath stepped aside and allowed him in, but not without a question. “Thorin, what are you doing here?”

Thorin turned to him, eyes alight with desire, as if nothing had changed. “I had to see you and you left before I noticed.”

Nyrath smirked a bit though he did not want to. “You were talking to someone. I didn’t want to intrude. I was tired and I needed to leave.”

“Not tired enough, I see,” said Thorin, not very subtly seductive.

Nyrath gave him a look that he knew Thorin wasn’t used to getting from him.

The prince became instantly serious. “Something is wrong,” he said. “What is it?”

Nyrath looked away. “Something is definitely wrong, with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think this has gone farther than it should have.”

Thorin was silent for a while. Nyrath had turned his back to him by now. “What are you saying?” Thorin asked darkly.

“I… I have no right to feel the way I feel about you,” said Nyrath. “I have no right to hope for anything.  I’m sorry, Thorin, I know I started this.”

Thorin came in front of him, but Nyrath couldn’t really look him in the eye. He could feel his bewilderment rising in a sick tide.

“What is this, Nyrath? What are you talking about?”

Finally, Nyrath faced him, but he knew his eyes were full of shameful tears. “I understand you received a proposal of marriage,” he said in a bare whisper. “And you have every right to accept it.”

To Nyrath’s surprise, Thorin breathed out in apparent relief. “I did not accept,” he said, “but I can see how polite refusal can look that way. And how did you know?”

Nyrath stared at him, not really knowing how to feel. “Frerin said -”

“Oh, Frerin,” said Thorin, shaking his head. “I am not marrying anyone. And you have every right to be jealous,” he said, raising his hand to Nyrath’s face, “though without good reason.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm.” Thorin kissed him and he couldn’t refuse. He wasn’t entirely convincing either, so Thorin stopped and looked at him again from some distance. “Aren’t you the one who told me that kings deserve happiness, too?”

Nyrath couldn’t deny that he was.

“For the first time in all these years, I am finally a little happy, and I have you to thank for that,” said Thorin, coming close again. “I meant it when I said that I loved you.”

Nyrath smiled at last. “So did I.”

They kissed again and this time they did not stop. But all the while, Nyrath had a strange feeling that it was not really happening. Although Thorin felt solid and warm, and very much there to his touch, it was as if he was not. When, held tightly in Nyrath’s arms, he whispered to him, “I am yours, only y-”, Nyrath covered his mouth with his own and made him forget what he’d said. He knew that was a promise that Thorin could not make.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a bout of inspiration, I managed to complete chapter 4 almost overnight. It's a little shorter, but I just couldn't keep it inside my head anymore. 
> 
> Oh, and I did a bit of research to try and find a face for Nyrath. I think I found one! Go here if you want to see: http://s1029.photobucket.com/user/Antares77/media/Hobbit/Nyrath_green%20eyes%202_crop_zpsaeo4l0ty.jpg.html
> 
> Thank you :)

Despite the shabby gloom that still hung over King Thror’s sitting room in Dunland, the King looked around him with a rare air of satisfaction. At his sides sat his royal relatives, his son, Thrain, Thorin’s father, with his own two sons, and Nain, Lord in the Iron Hills, with his son, Dain. Some solid plans had been laid out for the battle to reclaim their ancient halls in Khazad-dûm. Strategies had been discussed and agreed upon, postings had been appointed.

Nyrath sat with Dwalin and Balin, close to the royal family. He sustained Thorin’s gaze patiently whenever it fleeted, worried, to him. As always, Thorin’s shred of happiness had been short-lived. But for once, Nyrath felt his heart as light as the purest mithril, and he knew that he could impart at least a little of that to Thorin.

Observing a subtle sign from the King, Nyrath got up, but stayed behind after everyone else had walked out of the room, not failing to catch another glance from Thorin.

The King stood up as well and came closer to him. The strong bones of his face had become more prominent in the past years, and deeper crevices had appeared on his forehead. His old look of confidence, which Nyrath remembered from their time in Erebor, had been replaced by dark uncertainty. But now there was something soft in the way he looked at Nyrath. “I know you understand the responsibility I am giving you,” he said, “but I need to make sure. It is my grandson’s life that I am placing in your hands.”

Nyrath’s gaze did not flinch. “Yes, My Lord, I understand.”

“You do not leave Thorin’s side for anyone, not for me or his father, not even for his brother. Is that clear?”

Nyrath remained steady before Thror. “It is, My Lord.”

“Good,” said the King. “Whatever happens, we cannot afford to lose him. Thorin has to live, whether we win or lose.”

Nyrath smiled. “He will. I give you my word.”

“And your word weighs much, Nyrath, so of Nyr,” said Thror, finally shedding some of his tense shell. “May Durin watch over you.”

Nyrath took his leave with a deep bow of his head, and walked out into the freezing early morning. As he’d expected, Thorin was waiting for him outside, lurking in a dark corner of the covered porch.

“I’ll talk to grandfather,” he said in a low voice, as Nyrath went over to him.

“Thorin -”

“You can change places with Dwalin.”

“Thorin, the King is right, I belong with you.”

“No, as the son of his guards’ captain, you belong with him.”

“But I am your age. You are my king.”

“So is Dwalin.”

“Thorin, I have no intention of dying in this battle. I want to come back alive just as much as you do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. And I also have my orders. Out there on the battlefield, we are warriors, nothing more. We fight together, and that’s that.”

Thorin continued to stare at him in complete disbelief.

Nyrath lay a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Thorin, this is what I’m here for, after all. It always has been. Trust me. We’re going to be fine.”

Thorin still did not warm up to his newfound peace of mind.

“I’ll see you later,” said Nyrath, squeezing his shoulder, and walked off. He could feel the heaviness of Thorin’s anxiety hanging behind him still. It was not unjustified, he knew. But he believed what he’d said to him. It really was as it was meant to be.

That day, the last before they went off to battle, Nyrath did not stay on at the forge later than he was due. He did not work on weapons either. He worked mostly on harmless domestic items, but also on one hatchet, which he polished with particular pleasure. All the while, he wondered how long those items would have been used after he’d made them, how many years the hinges would have supported the opening and closing of a door to a home, how many mouths the little iron bowl would feed, and how many winters would be warmed by the wood chopped with his hatchet. He knew for sure that they were made to last, and that they would still be found useful by someone long after he’d gone. It was a thought that filled him with hope.

When he was done, he laid down his tools neatly for whoever would be taking over the following day. As his hand let go of the hammer one final time, another wave of relief came over him. His blacksmith days were over. Now he was again what he was born to be, his arms kept strong by the hammer so that they could still carry an axe one day. And that day was finally there.

He walked back to the tavern, where, to his surprise, he found Princess Dis sitting down on the floor of the front porch, eyes shut, her knees gathered to her chest, leaning against the wooden wall of the house.

“Everything all right?” he asked, as he approached her.

“Yes,” she said, a little startled. “Just catching my breath.”

He smiled to her and sat down at her side. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said, leaning his head back as well.

She looked at him seriously at first, then allowed a small smile to brighten her features. “Enjoyed your last day at the forge?”

“Quite. I almost feel like a Dwarf again,” he said, peering at her from the corner of his eye.

“Well,” continued Dis, “if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have to come back to it.”

“Nah,” said Nyrath, lifting his head, “I’m not coming back to it.” He caught her expression changing to something dark that didn’t suit her. “I’d rather work in the kitchen with you.”

She smiled again, and it looked much better. “I could use another pair of strong arms. Lots of heavy pots to carry around.” They laughed together. “Do you think it’ll work out?” asked Dis, becoming more serious again.

“I don’t know,” said Nyrath.

Dis seemed disappointed. She let her gaze fall down to her lap.

“You know,” said Nyrath, “Dwalin thinks I’m in love with you.”

She burst into a chuckle. “Dwalin would be surprised to know who you’re in love with.”

Nyrath nodded, and suddenly his mood acquired a veil of fog.

“Take care of him out there, will you?” said Dis.

“I will.”

“And do try to come back alive. I really do need some help in the kitchen.”

Nyrath smiled and it slowly turned into a grin. Then his eyes were drawn up as a pair of very familiar boots came up the stairs.

Dis looked up as well, then held out her arm. “Hand?”

Thorin obliged and offered her his hand with an affectionate smirk. He pulled her up easily.

She arranged her dress, then put her apron back on. “Dinner in ten minutes,” she said to them both with an air of maternal superiority, then walked back in.

Thorin looked at Nyrath, who was still lounging on the floor. His smirk was still in place, but it had changed colour from affectionate to suspicious. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

Nyrath sighed and got up. “I didn’t tell her.”

“I know. She’s always had a way of sniffing things out.”

“Brains and beauty,” Nyrath whispered. “Runs in the family.”

Thorin rewarded him with one of his best glares. “Come on,” he said and started off inside the tavern.

They met again in Thorin’s bedroom, later that night. Thorin sat quietly in an armchair as Nyrath walked in, wearing only a loose shirt and a pair of trousers. Nyrath closed the door behind him and turned the key in its lock with a swift, stealthy move, then leaned against the door, watching Thorin. The prince didn’t get up. He sat with his hands firmly gripping the arms of his seat. The light of the fire that burned at his side painted his serious features in a warmer glow than he would have probably liked. Nyrath couldn’t help smiling at him.

“I do not want you to take unnecessary risks for me,” he said, ignoring the smile.

“I won’t,” said Nyrath, finally, detaching himself from the door and walking to where Thorin sat.

“I’m serious,” said Thorin.

Nyrath kneeled beside him. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“Because we are much more than warriors, and it does not stop when we walk out that door.”

Nyrath had no argument against that statement. He looked down at Thorin’s knee and suddenly wanted to lay his head on it. He did, and it seemed to ease something in Thorin’s mood. He heard him sigh, then felt his hand tangle gently in his hair.

“This has indeed gone farther than it should have,” said Thorin.

Nyrath lifted his head and looked at him with a smile. “Too far to turn back.” He grasped Thorin’s hand and kissed its palm. Then he shifted closer to him until their mouths almost touched. “Let’s just… make the best of the time we have left.”

Something gleamed painful in Thorin’s eyes and he caressed the side of Nyrath’s face, brushing his thumb over his features as if he wanted to remember them forever. “Sometimes I wish that I were not who I am,” he whispered even if they were alone in the room.

Nyrath leaned into his touch. “I don’t. I love everything that you are.”

Thorin burst into a smile that had the seed of tears wrought tightly inside it. Nyrath stayed them with a kiss that Thorin received with all his heart. He followed him when Nyrath stood up and did not resist when he lifted his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his trousers.

They fell together on Thorin’s bed, as they had many times in the past month. But much had changed in the course of it, in a way that had taken both of them by surprise, although perhaps it should not have done. Their bodies buzzed with something deeper than desire now, something not so easily quiesced by touching each other, something that could only be captured in small drops by anything physical. Still, they tried their best on that last night of love before the first of war, and the ones that followed.

Nyrath was a little surprised as well when he found himself on his back, with Thorin above him, kissing his neck, then down his chest and his belly, in such sweet, loving bites that he could only lie there and savour the feeling. But he had a fair idea of where this particular strategy was going, and he thought that Thorin would stop before it got there. He didn’t.

“Thorin,” he said, “what-”

His question was answered before it was asked, and before he could even think of telling him to stop. Soon, he could not remember why he would have even wanted to do such a thing, why tell Thorin to stop doing something that gave him such pleasure. He grinned and pushed his head back into Thorin’s pillow, letting the pleasure fill his body, like the lick of a flame on that cold winter night. But as the sweet, unworldly fire invaded him, he remembered why it was so startling, and so rare. It would have felt just as wonderful if Thorin had not been who he was, but he was, and it spread its shadow, or its glow, over everything that he did.

When Thorin finally stopped and rose again to his level, Nyrath teased him, unable and not even trying to hide his grin. “You should not have done that.”

“Only you and I will know,” Thorin teased back. “You said we should make the best of it. Speaking of which -”

He strained a bit to get to the drawer of his night table, making Nyrath groan in a not entirely fake complaint over having all of Thorin’s weight pressing down on him. Nyrath was released of his beloved burden when Thorin managed to retrieve the bottle of oil. He poured a generous amount in his palm and coated Nyrath in a nice, thick layer. The feeling of Thorin’s strong hand on him was more intoxicating even than his mouth had been. Thorin smiled at him, noticing.

Then he told Nyrath clearly what he wanted, prolonging his caress. It sounded wicked, and forbidden, but so very tempting for it. Nyrath could not lie to himself and pretend that it was not also what he wanted, what he’d wanted all along, to have Thorin’s clear blue eyes, and his beautifully curved mouth, and his body all to himself. Thorin saw it, the fresh-awoken intent. He grinned in satisfaction and climbed off of him only to straddle him again with his back to him. He only turned his head a little as if to ask Nyrath what he was waiting for.

And indeed there was nothing holding him back anymore. All that Nyrath had to do now was to listen to what his body wanted, and it wanted to be one with Thorin in a way that no one else would be. With one hand, he traced Thorin’s right arm in all its sinewy glory. With the other, he grabbed a thick wave of his magnificent hair and pulled his head back slowly as they became one. Thorin moaned in response, seemingly forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet. Nyrath reminded him with a gentle hush as his fingers coiled tighter in Thorin’s hair. They were both as quiet as they could be, as difficult as it was.

Time was suddenly not there anymore again, and neither was the world itself, or the looming shadow of war, the cold breath of death, or the promise of kingdoms renewed. None of it mattered when they were together like that.

Neither of them knew how much time later they lay once more side by side, breathless and sore, their noses locked in a tender touch, a faint, sweet echo of their vibrant union. Nyrath knew better than before that what they shared could not be contained in words of any language, or broken down in actions, either soft or passionate, but they had come as close as possible.

After a while of simply being together, and seeing each other perhaps better with their eyes closed than they did with them open, Nyrath felt Thorin distance himself from him a bit. He opened his eyes to look at him and saw that he was gazing back at him with growing clarity.

“If I made a marriage proposal to you, would you accept?” he said, his voice just as clear.

Nyrath would have found it easy to think that it was just intoxication talking, except that it very obviously wasn’t. There was only one thing he could say. “Thorin, you know you can’t do that.”

Thorin’s eyes glinted with irony, also glaringly obvious. “But what if I did?”

Nyrath watched him, defeated. “Yes, I would accept,” he said smiling.

Thorin smiled back and kissed him again. Then, he draped his blanket over both of them. “Can I at least ask you to stay the night?”

“One last time?” said Nyrath.

“One last time in Dunland,” answered Thorin. “I look forward to receiving you into my royal bedroom in Khazad-dûm.”

“It might be a while before we get there.”

“It is something to look forward to.”  

Thorin studied him for a while, then placed a finger on Nyrath’s mouth and traced its curves. “I never want to fall asleep so that tomorrow never comes. Some warrior am I.”

“Tomorrow will come anyway,” said Nyrath. “You need to sleep.”

“Stay with me,” said Thorin, already having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“I’ll stay.”

“Promise you won’t go if I fall asleep?”

“I promise.”

Thorin struggled still to stay awake.

“I promise, Thorin. You know I always keep my word to you. Go to sleep.” Nyrath brushed the back of his hand over Thorin’s warm cheek and watched as his eyes filled with haze and finally closed. Then he pressed his lips against his forehead gently enough not to wake him, in the longest kiss he had ever given him, and the truest promise.

Nyrath did indeed keep his word, but he did not take his own advice. His eyes remained wide open as the night hours passed, shifting slowly into dawn. His face remained close to Thorin’s forehead, not wanting to part with its warmth until he absolutely had to. If a tear found its way every now and then onto Thorin’s skin, he could not stop it more than he could stop the coming of a new day.

When the black eye of the window began to acquire a hint of dark azure, he found himself compelled to kiss Thorin’s forehead again and try to wake him. It took another kiss or two, but Thorin opened his eyes eventually.

“I didn’t want to leave without telling you,” said Nyrath.

Thorin smiled at him, but it was faint as the daylight outside, lurching in slow, cold hues. Then, he hid his face in Nyrath’s chest, and Nyrath held him until Thorin came out again on his own. “That question that I cannot ask you,” he said.

“My answer is still yes,” said Nyrath.

They kissed, but it could not last forever as they wanted. It could not even last another day, or another hour. Thorin finally let Nyrath go, and Nyrath knew how hard it was, but he was grateful for it. He got up and dressed. Thorin lay in the same posture with his arm still stretched out as it had been draped over Nyrath’s waist, and watched him. Nyrath sat back down on the side of his bed as he put on his shirt, then turned his gaze again fully to Thorin. Indeed, some things were beyond words, but not all beyond actions. He smiled to him, took his now limp, weak hand into his and kissed it. He did not let go until Thorin’s fingers sprang back to life and squeezed back. Then, he stood up, finally, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. His armour and weapons were waiting for him in his room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a long time to write this chapter and yet it's shorter than the rest. I'm sure it could also be better than it is. But it's finally up and I hope you like it anyway. Thank you, as always :)

Nyrath sat outside on the porch, his head in his hands. He was dressed for battle, but he felt very little prepared for it, very much against everything that he was and everything that he had been raised to be. A warrior on the eve of a battle should not have felt the way he felt now, death already cushioned dark and deep inside his heart, where it had no place even if a blade were to pierce it.

A light arm, entirely unhoped for, wrapped around his back, and a small hand squeezed his shoulder through his tunic. “Hey,” said Dis. “Are you all right?”

He let go of his head, pulled out of his funk only by her voice, sunny and warm as that day was not. He looked at her, but did not answer.

Dis read him well, as always. She gave him a light peck on the cheek. “For luck,” she said. “Now everyone will think you’re in love with me.”

He conceded a smile, unable to resist the brightness in her face.

“Come inside and have something to eat,” she said. “Thorin’s up, too.”

He looked away. The mention of his name struck him, so casual and familiar, as if it could be spoken in that way, or in any way that was not hushed, and secret.

“You’re going to have to face him again at some point anyway, probably very soon,” Dis pressed on, still not tasting his darkness. “Come on, you’ll feel better once you’ve had some breakfast. I promise it’ll be a good one.”

Nyrath looked at her again. Breakfast, the warmth of a soft arm, and the warmer still comfort of a soft kiss, all promises of a princess, of things he had thought dead in his sleepless night. But they were not. 

Dis stood up, her gaze never straying from Nyrath’s. She waited until he decided to do the same. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as he had thought it would be either. He followed her back into the house.

He almost expected to find another Thorin sitting inside at the kitchen table, one that knew nothing of the night that had just passed, one that looked on only to what waited for them out on the battlefield. When they had parted earlier that morning, it felt as if they had parted forever, as if they were never going to see one another again, certainly not in the way they had until that moment. But what other way was there left?

Thorin did not appear different at all, however. He sat indeed at the kitchen table, his head slumping a little over his chest, as if he was not in any particular mood to start a new day. He looked up at the sound of steps. The pale cloud of anxiety in his face could not have been more familiar to Nyrath, and neither could the lovely blue of his eyes. To Nyrath’s surprise, something brightened in them at his sight. He sat down opposite him, unable to let go of his gaze. Why it came as a surprise that Thorin’s mood brightened in his presence, he could no longer tell. It usually did, after all.

They both waited quietly while Dis placed all the food on the table. Nyrath did not notice what exactly the good breakfast she had promised consisted of, but the lovely smell of eggs was indication enough that Dis would be keeping her promise. He could not look away from Thorin, whose eyes were set only on him as well. He only stole a glance to Dis, who placed a last cup of tea in front of him, smiled at him subtly, then walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

“This is quite a farewell meal,” said Nyrath, looking down finally at a fuller, more royal-looking table that he had seen in a long time.

“All courtesy of our kin from the Iron Hills,” said Thorin, a small, spidery smile curling his lips.

Nyrath smiled back in the same way.

“If only I had the appetite to go with it,” continued Thorin. He looked pale, almost translucent.

“Or I,” said Nyrath.

They looked at each other for a while, or rather, consumed each other with their eyes, in the absence of the words that could not be spoken, or of the time that was not in their favour.

“If I had a choice,” said Thorin, eventually, his voice straining not to break, “and I chose to go to the Blue Mountains and build a new home there, would you follow me, as your king?”

“As my king, I would follow you anywhere,” said Nyrath.

“Even in life?”

Nyrath knew what Thorin was asking him. It was the same thing that had been haunting him all morning. And he finally knew what his answer was. “I would only follow you in life, Thorin.”

Another bitter smile etched itself on Thorin’s face. “It is not much of a life we are going into.”

“It is the only one we have.”

Thorin lowered his forehead in a heavy nod. Of course, he knew better than anyone the truth of Nyrath’s words. But it only made it harder to accept. He kept his eyes low. “This morning was-”

“I know.”

Thorin raised his eyes again to Nyrath. They were clear and fiery. “I cannot go out into this battle knowing that you do not mean to come back with me.”

Nyrath was very tempted to look away, to catch his breath. But he remained steady in his gaze, and it did him good. The fire in Thorin’s eyes, also of truth, burned through everything that was hiding inside him. “Neither can I, to be honest.”

“Then we are in it together?”

Nyrath finally felt a spark of warmth in his heart, where it was dark and cold, and Thorin could see it. He was right. Neither of them could go out into battle feeling that way. And they could never really say good bye to one another, or not be in love with each other.

Thorin saw that, too, and he smiled, really smiled, in agreement. “Well,” he said, his voice fuller, “it would be a shame to let all this go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said Nyrath, remembering that there was actually food on the table. “Strange that we get to do this now, not that I ever thought we would.”

Thorin did not respond. He only watched Nyrath from under his eyebrows as he took a bite of his breakfast. His look was one that wanted to hide the clear feeling that this was possibly the first and the last time that they would be sharing breakfast alone like that and that it was not something that they could do again without raising suspicion.

Nyrath did not push the matter. All that counted was the present moment, priceless and impossible to repeat.

The same buzz of things being done for the last time hung in the air outside as Thorin and Nyrath went out after their meal and joined the last preparations for battle.

When they were finally ready to leave, it was time for Dis to say goodbye to all the men she loved, one after another – her grandfather, King Thror, her father, her two brothers, and her friend, Nyrath. He could feel the fear filling her every pore as he held her, the fear of never seeing them again. She hid it well from the others, and especially from those who were staying behind with her and for whom she was now responsible.

Nyrath held her until she was better even if it was long enough to give weight to suspicions that they were in love. He only let go when the tremor in her bones fell quiet. He gazed at her softly and told her that everything would be all right. She nodded and smiled. She believed him. And he believed himself. He knew for sure that Dis had to be all right not matter what.

They set off at midday, and in in spite of the early falling veil of night, they marched on until a violent blizzard forced them to seek shelter in a shallow cave carved into the side of the Misty Mountains by ages of wind and rain. There were no fires that night so as not to alert the enemy to their presence, but there were low-hummed songs and lengthening plans for battle. Nyrath sat with his back against the cold wall of the cave, battling sleep for now. A night without it and a day filled only with winter were enough even for him. Through the mist of his barely open eyes, he could see Thorin standing in the opening of the cave, looking outside at the flurry of snow. He was sure that it was not really the snow that Thorin was contemplating.

Nyrath stood up and went to him, shaking his weakness on the way.

Thorin caught sight of him. He looked back at their companions inside the cave, then at Nyrath. “We have not made any plans of our own,” he said, raising an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth.

“We know each other too well for plans,” said Nyrath and leaned against the opposite wall of the cave.

Thorin smirked. Something in his manner warmed up in spite of the glacial setting. It seemed that even then Nyrath retained his power over him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not about to kill any of your goblins for you,” said Nyrath.

“I’m sure there will be plenty for both of us.”

Nyrath nodded. Then he reached his hand out into the blizzard to catch some of the flakes in his hand. He only managed to get it covered in a coat of formless spikes of snow. They started melting as soon as he took back his hand and vanished into cold drops of water under his gaze. “The mountain is angry tonight,” he said. “I would be, too, if I had hordes of filthy goblin nests deep inside my heart.”

Thorin smiled at him, knowing exactly what he meant. There was something about being back under the wing of the Misty Mountains, as shallow as it was. There was something about being close to home that woke in them feelings they had forgotten they had, desires for more than merely surviving from one day to the next. It was easier now to see the King’s reasons for coming here. Their ancient lands were crawling with Orcs and Goblins. They could not stand by and not try to take them back, especially now that they knew the deep hurt of being driven out of their mountain home in Erebor.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

They knew each other too well indeed for plans. They did not have to speak further to know that this was the only life for them, and the only true way. Nyrath inclined his head to Thorin in silent bid of a peaceful night and went back to his corner of the cave, to lie down finally.

The sound of talk and hushed song around him soon faded to a soothing murmur that only made his passage into sleep sweeter. His mind hovered in that state of weightlessness for a while until another sound brought him back. Thorin had just settled down in his own bedroll at Nyrath’s side. There was peace in his eyes, and there was a choice without return, but there was also that which neither of them could deny. Nyrath closed his eyes again, letting peace descend to his own heart.

Peace was a strange thing to feel at a time of war. But it had sunken too deep to be touched by any of it, and had solidified into a purpose that had always been there, seeded by generations before, and that Nyrath was only remembering.

Many days later, he had done King Thror’s bidding beyond reproof. He and Thorin had fought side by side and they were both mainly unscathed, save for a few scratches here and there. They were among the few however, and they were only unscathed on the outside. The King was dead, beheaded by Azog, the chieftain of the Orcs and self-proclaimed king in Moria. Thrain had gone into battle with Azog to avenge his father and had never returned. And now Azog was coming to meet Thorin, the next in the line of his enemies. Nyrath only caught Thorin’s glance briefly. His face was soaked in blood, but his gaze was steadier than ever with his purpose. Nyrath did not need more to know that this fight was Thorin’s alone.

When it was over, the tide of the battle turned in a way that no one had hope for anymore. Under their stunned eyes, Thorin had performed some sort of magic, and Azog was being driven back inside Moria by his faithful minions, wailing and holding the bloody stump that was left of his arm to his chest. Thorin was standing in their wake, the oaken branch that he had defended himself with in one hand, and the sword that he had cut Azog’s will to fight with in the other. Behind him there was silence. He turned and let them see his eyes, alive with confidence that the day could still be won. Then he raised his sword and shouted their ancient call to arms. Nyrath was the first one to run after him into battle. Then, Frerin and Dwalin joined him, and then all that remained of the Dwarf army, and the day was won indeed.

Many more of them fell, but the Orcs were slaughtered to the last one.

Under the open sky, grey with smoke and lowering night, Nyrath lay on his back, breathing in slowly the relief of victory. He could hear Thorin asking for him somewhere around, but he could not respond. Thorin’s voice was starting to break finally with all the horror he had seen that day.

Eventually, Dwalin’s voice came, low and strained, saying, “He’s… there.”

And then he saw Thorin again. The Prince, now the sole keeper of their fates in the absence of his father and grandfather, swooped over him like a hawk. His face was black with smoke and blood, and his eyes burned all the fiercer with grief. He said nothing and started checking Nyrath’s body for wounds. When he found it, a long gash just below his ribcage, he flinched a little, but then he began tugging at his undershirt, trying to rip it apart.

“Stop, Thorin,” whispered Nyrath. “You can’t save me.”

“Save your strength. I’ll carry you back to the camp and we’ll treat you,” said Thorin, fumbling with his shirt.

“Thorin, look at me,” said Nyrath, weakly. “I do not have much time left in this world.”

Thorin did not listen as he finally managed to obtain a fair wrapping for Nyrath’s wound.

“Thorin,” called Nyrath once again, lifting a bloody hand over Thorin’s, “stop.”

Thorin finally faced him, but he clearly did not want to see the truth. His hands had stopped trying to defeat the inevitable, but his eyes were still blazing with disbelief. He had lost so much that day. His younger brother, Frerin, was also among the fallen, hopeless and alone in the face of desperate foes, although Nyrath had tried to get to him in time. Now, Thorin had to part with another light in his life.

“You were right, after all, not to trust me with an axe,” said Nyrath, smiling.

Thorin burst into laughter and tears at the same time. “Tell that to all the goblins you didn’t kill for me,” he replied.

Nyrath squeezed Thorin’s hand as tightly as he still could, hoping that Thorin would meet him half way. And he did more than that. He wrapped his hand with both of his own. They felt warm, and only now did Nyrath begin to realise that he was growing cold. “This is not goodbye, Thorin,” he said. “I shall see you again in the Halls of Our Fathers. But until then, there is much you have to do for our people.”

Thorin nodded and brought Nyrath’s hand to his lips.

Nyrath smiled. “I take that as a promise.”

“A promise it is,” said Thorin, his blue eyes swimming in tears so clear that it made them more beautiful than ever.

Still, Nyrath wished that this had not been the last image of Thorin that he would carry with him into the night. At the same time, he realised that he was also not in the shape that Thorin would have liked to remember him in. Things were what they were, however, and they were both used to that. Nyrath kept his smile as he closed his eyes, he knew, for the last time. He was no longer cold, nor was he in pain. All he could feel was the solid warmth of Thorin’s presence, which faded slowly enough for him not to notice. But all was well, and his heart was full of sunshine, bright beyond the clouds.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ THE END ~

Thorin felt a deep sob growing in his chest, but he did not let it out. He waited until his tears dried before he let go of Nyrath’s hand, which he put around the handle of his blood-black axe, still warm and soft as it was. To his brother, he had not got in time, but he knew that he would have said about the same things that Nyrath had said. It was not goodbye. It was just a temporary break in his heart, which he had their trust to fill with, as well as that of his people.

Thorin got up and raised his eyes over the battlefield, where Dwarves and Orcs lay slaughtered together. Of the Orcs, none were left alive. Of the Dwarves, less than half remained to go back to their families. But of those few, many were looking at him, and even if their eyes were filled with tears, he knew that they were looking at him with something that felt intangible to him, and that was hope. It lay on his shoulders now, all of it, and there was nothing that he could do with his pain other than set it on fire.

“You’re bleeding,” said Dwalin, at his side.

Startled, Thorin looked at him. Dwalin nodded towards his left arm. Indeed, there was a trail of fresh blood dripping down his forearm. He remembered a growing sting under his breast as well, which Dwalin could not see.

“It is nothing,” he said. “It can wait.”

Dwalin held his gaze, challenging, but eventually relented, and joined Thorin in his desolate survey of the battlefield. “Our dead are too many to build tombs,” said Dwalin.

“Aye,” said Thorin.

“We cannot leave them to the beasts that still lurk unseen in these parts.”

“No, we cannot,” said Thorin and his own words sounded to him like they were made of death. He had never realised so deeply before this moment what power words had to turn immaterial, inoffensive thoughts into heavy reality. His thoughts and his words were heavy with power over the life and death of his people. He’d always known that, but now it was final and so very real. “We will have to burn them,” he said, looking at Dwalin. A shroud of grief fell over his heart along with his words. He knew that it was endless and without return, like death itself, but at least Dwalin was there to see his terrible thoughts and remain strong before them. There was something encouraging in the way Dwalin stood at his side, bloody, tired and surely hiding his own wounds, but not quite at the end of his strength, seeing all the way through to the wide, deep darkness that had become of Thorin’s heart, and yet meeting it with the light of trust in his eyes. “But first we must strip them of their weapons and mail. We do not want any of it to fall to the hands of the Orcs,” said Thorin finally.

Dwalin approved, and Thorin gave in to the impulse of laying a thankful hand on his shoulder. As he did so, he saw Dwalin’s brother Balin coming towards them, his face glistening with fresh traces of tears.

“Balin, have you seen my father?” said Thorin, as he came close.

“No, I have not,” said Balin.

“I shall look for him myself,” said Thorin, then turned again to Nyrath’s body, lying peaceful on the ground. “Will you take care of him for me?” he asked, addressing Dwalin. “My brother, too.”

Balin looked at both of them confused.

“Dwalin will explain,” Thorin told him. “Take some of the stronger ones with you to cut down the trees. Build as many pyres as you need to, but don’t light the fire until I say so.”

Dwalin and Balin both bowed their heads to him even if only one of them knew fully what he was talking about. Thorin took this as further encouragement and went on to look for his father among the fallen. His heart was a little lighter when he could not find him there, even if he could not find him among the living either. But at least, he could hope that he was still alive, and he did not have to go back to his sister and tell her that they had lost everything. It was also his last sign that his thoughts and words were now all powerful.

By the time Thorin had finished looking, the funeral pyres were built, so many that the valley before the East Gate of Moria was left barren of trees. Their dead had been laid upon them, and torches were coming alive one after another. All they awaited now was for Thorin to join them and light the first fire.

He walked back to where Dwalin and Balin were standing, at the foot of one of the pyres, where Frerin and Nyrath surely lay. Balin’s face was bathed in new tears, which left clean traces on his cheeks where they had washed away the grime of battle. Dwalin was of a stonier composure. He held out a blazing torch to Thorin. Thorin took it, perceiving a slight tremor in Dwalin’s hand, which he was concealing well.

Thorin turned to face the funeral pyre which he was about to set alight and his eyes rose searching for those dearest to his heart. He found them, eventually, the bright auburn of Nyrath’s hair, and the dark brown of Frerin’s, now wet with falling snow. Thorin closed his eyes, preferring the dark beneath fallen eyelids. Behind him, a deep song filled the valley and all of his senses. His arm moved without him, and soon the heat of a growing fire touched his face. He stood there before it without once looking upon it. There was no fire that could warm him now, least of all the fire that consumed the things he loved. As the flames filled the sky, unrelenting under the light snowflakes, Thorin felt himself turning to ice, and the cold reaching far down into his bones and his heart was comforting.

He did not even flinch later when Dwalin convinced him to have his wounds looked at. He knew that they were bled dry by then. He could feel his undershirt thick with blood. If Dwalin had bothered to speak to him through it all, he would not have heard him. Dwalin knew this and did not speak. He simply led Thorin to a rock, away from the fires, sat him down and stripped him to his waist. He ripped Thorin’s bloody undershirt apart and used some of it to clean his wounds as he could with a bit of fresh snow. With what was left of it, he bound his wounds, then dressed him back in his tunic and armour. Thorin looked up at him at least, when it was over, trying to look grateful. Dwalin gave him a little smile and squeezed his shoulder. He saw the ice in his heart and did not blame him for it.

The march back to Dunland was made under heavy burden of the weapons and mail of their dead and of silence. The snow came thicker and thicker, muffling the sound of their steps and making the silence easier to bear. Thorin’s thoughts trailed back to the still smoking pyres and the still hot ashes they had left behind, now slowly dying under the white veil of winter. They remained there for a few days, but soon enough, his thoughts skipped forward, to his sister and to everyone else waiting for their return. He would not have to tell them that there were few of them left able to return. That much they would be able to see for themselves. But he would have to tell them that they had gained nothing but vengeance and that the Halls of Moria would remain empty still.

They reached Dunland with the dusk, a wet, sad dusk of receding winter. As Thorin had expected, Dis came first to their welcome. She looked thinner than when he had left her, her skin paler and her eyes shadowed with worry, but no less beautiful. Her eyes searched in vain at Thorin’s sides. Grief took the place of worry when she understood that there was no one else to look for. When he finally walked into her arms and held her tightly, she did not cry, but he could feel her body trembling with all the tears she was not shedding.

“Grandfather and Frerin have not come back with us,” Thorin said low into her ear. “Neither has Father, but I could not find him among the dead.”

Dis pulled back to look at him, grief now overcome by a mix of hope and fear. “Could he have been taken prisoner?”

“I do not know. But I am sure he lives and I shall not rest until I find him. I promise you that.”

She put her arms back around his neck and hid her face in his shoulder. Then she emerged again to ask, “Did Nyrath not come back with you either?”

Thorin felt dangerously close to slipping. He hid his eyes from her and only shook his head without speaking.

She let go of him just at the right time. “I’m very sorry, Thorin,” she said, trying hard, he knew, not to hug him again. “Come, let us find you something to eat.”

“No,” said Thorin, his voice breaking a little, but facing her again, “take care of the others. I need some time.”

She did not accept his request easily. “All right,” she said, “but don’t stay out here longer than you need to.”

He could agree to that much. And to his surprise, she also made him agree to giving her some of his load, the weapons and mail of their brother and grandfather. Dwalin offered to take the rest of the things he was carrying. Thorin gave them to him, then walked off bearing only his own sword and the fire beast that was about to burst through the icy exterior that was harder and harder to keep.

He did not stop walking until he was out in the woods again and no sound of life from the village of Men could reach him. It had grown dark, but the clearing clouds had unveiled a bright half-moon rising over the forest. There was still a good layer of snow on the ground that filled the night with a gentle reflection of the moonlight. Thorin looked only at the black, impenetrable wall of the trees lining the edge of the forest, black like his heart. Perhaps it would have been better if it had remained impenetrable as well, if he could have never looked inside it again, if he could have forgotten. He had been able to keep his grief hidden for so long, to not let it break him. Why could he not go on doing that? Why did he feel like his throat would collapse on itself and capture his breathing into a clutch of death if he did not reach into the darkness and allow it to crush him now when no one could see him?

Thorin lowered his head and waited. He had not heard such silence in months. And in the pristine quiet of that night, finally alone at the edge of the forest, he fell to his knees and cried.

He knew not for how long. When he came back to his senses, half of his face felt numb while a sharp pain was digging in his side. He opened his eyes and saw that it was still dark and that he was lying on the frozen ground. As he managed to get up, he noticed a pool of blood in the snow where he had lain. Even if his chest wound was days old already, it was not any closer to healing than it had been on the first day. And now it had opened up again. He could feel his tunic soaked in blood against him. And he could finally feel something other than blackness in his heart. He could tell that if he lingered there much longer, it would have all been in vain.

Thorin gathered his coat closer around him to stay a sudden shiver and started back to the village. A great weakness came over him as he walked among the houses, on the dirty snow of the streets. He surprised himself by being able to reach the house where he lived with his sister, walking inside and slumping on the first chair he could find near the kitchen door. He would have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness, he didn’t know which, right then and there if two warm hands had not lifted his head a little abruptly and forced him to look into Dis’s frightened eyes.

He heard her call his name and scold him for staying out much longer than he had needed to. He heard fear stronger in her voice than anger, and then nothing else.

“Thorin,” cried Dis, trying to hold her brother’s head steady.

He was unable to help her help him, as she obviously wanted, unable even to give her the hope that he would survive. He closed his eyes and leaned against her, feeling the desperate waves of her breath, and hearing not much else. Soon, he perceived the steady sound of rushed boots on the wooden floor and Dwalin’s voice announcing with alarm that his wounds had opened up again, surely earning a reproachful look from Dis. No one had told her that he was wounded, but the lack of verbal protests from her told Thorin that she knew already but had simply chosen to let him be and was now blaming herself for it.

He wished he could have taken the unnecessary guilt from her, but couldn’t do more than let himself be carried by Dwalin into what was surely the closest bed. He could feel his clothes being taken off and his wounds tended to but he did not react. Nothing hurt anymore, and it was comforting.

When he woke up again, everything hurt even more than before, but at least he was not alone, nor did he want to be. Dis was still at his side, lying in bed next to him, convincingly asleep. He had no notion of the time they had passed like that, but he was ready to find out. Wincing as he moved his arm, he looked for Dis’s hand under the covers and touched it without really being able to squeeze.

She stirred instantly, opening her eyes wide as if she had never been asleep. There was a bright sun shining in them.

“I am sorry that I frightened you,” said Thorin.

Dis smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. “No harm done. You’re here now.” She shifted closer to him, put her arm around him and rested her head against his shoulder. He could tell that she was incredibly relieved.

“You know,” she said after a while, looking up at him. “I hope that I fall in love like that, too, someday.”

Thorin felt his eyes become moist, but he did not let his tears flow. “I hope you have better luck with it,” he said.

The brightness in Dis’s face dimmed a little under his words and she placed her warm cheek back against his shoulder. There was not much more to be said, but it was enough for him that she understood.

Thorin remained in bed, under his sister’s care, for another day. As expected, she tried to convince him to rest for a while longer, but he did not feel they had the time for it.

“I’ll get Dwalin to give you a hand,” said Dis, as Thorin sat on the edge of his bed.

“I can manage,” said Thorin.

“Thorin,” warned Dis, over her shoulder.

He looked up at her. “You’re going to make a fine mother someday.”

She glared at him. “And you’re going to make a fine uncle.”

Thorin smiled at her and watched her walk out of the room. He hoped that his sister would be able to have her own family if she wanted to, but he knew that she could not do it where they were now. That was why it was important for him to get up as soon as possible.

Dwalin came to his help and he accepted it without further protests. There was something comforting about the things in his life that had remained intact: his sister’s affection and Dwalin’s stable presence. Everything else had changed, and he had a good mind to turn the tide of change for the better.

“Dwalin,” he said as he finally got up, “I want you to call a meeting at the tavern, with everyone left. The women, too.”

Dwalin nodded. “You want to tell them what happened?”

“That and something else.”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow at him, but Thorin did not say more. Dwalin did not insist. He only walked with him out into the kitchen, where Dis waited with breakfast on the table. He then took his leave, going surely to fulfill Thorin’s wish.

A little while later, Thorin and Dis walked into the tavern packed with every one of their kin that was still able to stand and listen. He had not even told his sister what he meant to tell them. He could feel their grief hanging heavy in the air.

As he reached the front of the room, he turned to them and looked them in the eye. They were completely silent and waiting only for bad news.

Thorin started speaking, his voice strong and determined, even to his own surprise. “Our war against the Orcs of Moria was a success, and a failure at the same time. We lost many of our own as did our kin from other lands. King Thror was slain in battle, as was my brother, Prince Frerin. My father went missing.” There was a murmur of anxiety in the audience. “Moria is still out of our reach. We will keep searching for my father, but in the meantime, we can build another home.” Now there was silence again. “We will leave this place, and make our own luck in the Blue Mountains. Gather all your things and any food you have. We leave in three days. Lady Dis will be in charge of getting everyone together, so you report to her. And I know that many of you are grieving for your husbands, fathers, sons, brothers. You may have heard what happened from those who returned, but you need to hear it from me. We were not able to give them a proper burial, as is our custom. But they fought bravely and they rest now in the Halls of our Fathers. We shall gather here tonight again to remember them.”

As people started filing out of the room, many of them bowing their heads to Thorin and Dis as they passed them, Thorin caught Balin’s look. It was a look of pride and even of hope.

Balin came up to him and patted him on the arm. “That is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” he said, smiling. His eyes were sparkling a little wet.

Thorin nodded to him in thanks. “We will need to forge more arrows,” he said, glancing at Dwalin as well. “Ask some of the others to help you. I shall join you soon.”

Dwalin and Balin walked away, visibly keen on starting their assignment.

Dis was looking at Thorin with a glowing smile on her face.

“What?” said Thorin.

“For the first time since we came here, I actually feel that we’re going to be fine,” she said, taking her brother’s arm. He smiled to her faintly. “I never heard you call me Lady Dis before.”

“Are you not?”

“Well, of course, but I haven’t really felt like it in a very long time.”

“And yet you act like it quite convincingly.” She made a face and Thorin smiled with more of his heart. “Dis, we are the only ones left,” he said then, taking her hand. “We are the only ones who can do something for our people. I cannot do this alone. I need your help.”

She kept her gaze steady on him. “And you shall have it.”

“I think I might ask Dwalin to resume your training. It wouldn’t hurt to reacquaint yourself with a sword.”

Dis lit up, then acquired a very lady-like air of superiority. “I never really forgot.”

“All for the better then.”

“Oh, which reminds me. I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to be pounding away at arrows today. You need to recover.”

“Fine, not today.”

But Thorin did go to the forge later that evening to stand once more in the place where he had held Nyrath when they had been there together for the last time. Neither of them had been meant to be a blacksmith, and if anything good had come out of that battle, it was that they had remembered who they were. Thorin wished that it had not cost Nyrath his life, but he knew that it would cost him his own, in other ways. There was much that he could not take with him to the Blue Mountains. He could not take his heart’s desire, or the hope that he should find another one like it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers:
> 
> The names of ‘Nyrath’ and ‘Nyr’ are taken from stanza 12 of the Voluspo, part 1 of the Poetic Edda, which is where Tolkien himself borrowed the names of his Dwarves from. If you have a look, you’ll notice that the name ‘Thorin’ appears in the same stanza :)
> 
> Thorin and any reference to events, locations and characters from Tolkien’s Middle Earth and the film adaptations by Peter Jackson belong to their respective owners.
> 
> Nyrath, son of Nyr (c) 2014 MirielOfGisborne


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